Weather

The weather has been warm, almost summery lately. We haven't wanted to turn on the air conditioning, so we've done one of my favorite things: slept with the windows open. It feels great until the neighbors next to you start pulling fence posts out of the ground at 8:00 in the morning and the guy across the street decides that mowing the lawn is best done at 8:45. And to think that I was looking forward to sleeping in on Memorial Day...

I'm a Convert!*

Yesterday Jube and I went out with this guy who works for the Federal Communications Commission (suddenly, I realize how living in DC affects the people we meet...). His big project right now revolves around the "DTV Transition," which will take place in about two weeks (don't know what I'm talking about? You must not have suffered through snowy reception for two years like Jube and I have).

I've been complaining for about a year about the DTV transition. I didn't want to spend the money to get a converter box for my TV; I didn't think it was fair that we should be penalized for not buying cable; I was happy enough with my fuzzy reception. But two weeks ago Jube and I bought our DTV converter, and I saw the light! It's wonderful! When my father came to visit, he thought we'd signed up for cable.

I even feel more informed about the world since we receive four PBS channels. I now understand what stock options, hedge funds, and the financial crisis are all about - and The Bachelor has never looked as good! (Actually, Jube and I think he looks sort of like a young George W. Bush.) So if you've got basic cable right now, I'm telling you: quit it and buy a converter box! You'll thank me later!



*Pun absolutely intended. Every time I say this to someone, I have to restrain myself from saying, "Get it? Get it???"

WWJD?

The other day at the mall, I was trying on some clothes when I heard the girl in the next dressing room open the door and call to her friend, "What do you think?"

Her friend called back, "Is it too small?"

I reflexively looked at the wall separating my dressing room from the girl's. I could almost feel the heat emanating from her angry body. Quiz: What was the proper response in this situation? I probably would have gone for something like, "It's okay," expressing some ambiguity with the ensemble without implying that my friend was (gasp) not a dainty little fairy!

"No!" she hissed back. "It's my size! Why?"

At least her friend knew the correct answer to this one: "Oh, it just looks a bit tight on the bust." Good comeback!

Harbor Fest 2008

Jube and I went to Harbor Fest last year, and we had a great time! This year we went just for the fireworks, because they were really awesome. They were just as good this time around.

We made one change over last year, though - this time, we brought our own food instead of buying the deep-fried goodness of fair food. This is what we had (we felt super healthy!):

Steamed shrimp with homemade aioli (Jube made the aioli without using our mixer, which I thought was pretty amazing!);
Fresh salad with homemade vinaigrette, sundried tomatoes and bleu cheese;
One avocado each;
Water.

But we did get some good dessert after the fireworks were over.

As I ate the shrimp and ailoi, I though that our neighbors must be annoyed that we were eating so much garlic. I could barely stand to smell my own breath! But then I realized that the woman sitting to our right was screaming at every blast of the fireworks, "Pink! I want to see pink fireworks!" Then she called her friend during the grand finale and yelled over the noise, "Are you going to Bar Norfolk tonight? Are you going to Bar Norfolk tonight? 'Cause we're downtown and we could meet you there. We're downtown!" I figured that if she had been bothered by our smelly breath, she would have told us.

Détrompez-vous!

Le Pacha just called to talk to me about visiting the US next summer.

Le Pacha: "I'll be on vacation, and I'll bring my friend Manou! I told him that he could see some hot girls in the States."

Me: "Oh really!"

Le Pacha: "Yeah, that's right! Everyone thinks that the girls in the US are fat because they eat at McDonald's all the time. But there are skinny girls, for sure!"

Me: "And you tell your friends?"

Le Pacha: "Yeah, I tell all of them, 'Open your eyes, guys! [Détrompez-vous!] I went to America and there are definitely skinny girls there!' I show them pictures, and they all say, 'Well, they must not eat at MacDo.' I even tell them about your brother's girlfriend, that she's vegan or vegetarian, I don't know which, but that she definitely doesn't eat there."

Me: "You know she isn't vegan anymore, she eats cheese and eggs."

Le Pacha: "That must be because she visited France and tried all the good cheese!"

Me: "Yeah, that must be it. And what do you say about your belle-soeur, do you say she's fat because she eats at MacDo?"

Le Pacha: "No, you're skinny! But I can't tell my friends that you're hot, you're my sister now!"

Me: "Okay. You can come visit us in the US."

Recommendation

A few years ago (5? 7?) during a road trip from Ohio to Virginia, my mom picked out Saint Maybe on tape to entertain all of us. Since I was younger at the time, Anne Tyler's work didn't really strike me as the most amazing prose I'd ever heard. However, since we couldn't finish the end of the book during our trip, I picked up the book to finish it. The ending--wistful, unresolved, gentle--hit me as perfect. I didn't read any Tyler again for a few years, not until my mother bought me The Accidental Tourist for a plane ride to France. In Nice, the English Library had a good selection of her books, and I read them all.

The other day I was browsing the leisure section of the ODU library and came across Digging to America, her latest book. I picked it up because it was by Anne Tyler, and I was amazed to find that it mirrored a lot of my current interests. It centers around two families--an Iranian-American family and a "typical" American family--that are adopting girls from Korea. It focuses on what it means to be American, what it means to be foreign, and ultimately how we are all strangers to each other.

In France I felt American, and it is strange to be just a part of the crowd here in the US. Not surprisingly my best friend here, Lorene, just got back from spending 6 years in Germany, and we've been able to talk about Europe without feeling snobby. Because that's how it feels to us: like everyone is judging you for bragging about your experiences abroad (that are not Navy-related, of course!). Another of my friends, Willy, is from Ohio like me. He's never been out of the country, and sometimes it feels like he is blaming us for taking the opportunities we've had, like we're talking about living abroad in order to make others feel less fortunate.

I'm not sure how Jube feels. I don't think that he is blamed for being foreign, but there is still an aspect of bragging. Just because he's French he must be more cosmopolitan than we down-home cultureless Americans. When I first met him, he told me about how excited he had been to catch the French news on TV one night (France 2). After a few minutes he was disappointed to see that half of the broadcast was about the death of Charles Trenet. Still, it must have been strange to realize that the bulk of the French news wasn't even a talking point on the nightly American newscast.

Maybe we have to go abroad to see how our culture defines us. Maybe all you need is a critical eye, facing inward. In any case, Digging to America made me think about all of that, while making me care about its characters and making me wish we had moved to Baltimore...

Mystery Science Theater 2007

I don't usually yell at the TV. If something is funny, I'll make a joke about it with Jube; maybe I'll make fun of the way the commercials sound, or we'll laugh about the stupid answers on "Family Feud." Today, though, I couldn't help shouting back at the television. We were watching the Republican Presidential Primary Debate in Iowa. Why did we watch it? Well, at first I changed the channel, but there wasn't anything else on (no cable for us). Then I figured that since Virginia primaries are open, I could vote for the lesser of 15 evils when the time comes around. So I watched it. I soon discovered quite a few things:

-One candidate actually proposed bombing Mecca as a hypothetical reaction to Islamic terrorist action in the US. Jube said, "Not even Le Pen would say that--even if he dreams about it!"

-Rudy Giuliani can't get over being mayor of New York. We get it--you were mayor! You were even mayor during 9/11! WE KNOW. You don't have to mention it every time you answer a question.

-Fundamentalism is alive and well: when asked his greatest mistake, one candidate answered, "I waited 30 years before accepting Jesus Christ as my personal savior." That's great, but I would have been more interested in a political mistake.

I felt a little bit sick to my stomach and had a headache from yelling at the screen. The French election was more fun for me to follow--all of a sudden, I'm realizing how this will personally affect me. I'm back in the US, baby.

Dorm Life

Yesterday I helped my friend Kilmer move in to her new apartment. It is in the same apartment complex as mine, so I'm happy to know someone I can borrow flour and eggs from now. It's just like living in the dorm except that she doesn't have a dry-erase board on her door and I'm living with Jube...

Things have been very busy for me lately--class, work, and homework, lather rinse repeat. I know that must sound like a pretty lame excuse for not updating in a week or so, but I also had to finish reading the books I'd checked out of the library, because they are due tomorrow! And really I should be catching up on housework right now instead of writing here, but I have an obligation to all of you out there who still come to my blog in the hopes of reading something new.

I guess I can talk about my impressions of the local news. It's really kind of funny how it still strikes me as really different from France, even after nearly a year back in the States. In France, the regional news was full of free advertising for "cultural events," like special markets or parades. Here I learn about the horrors of sending your kid to school on the bus or how illegal immigrants are killing sweet all-American teenagers. (Seriously, there was a week-long special edition of the news focused on a kid who was dropped off at the wrong bus stop and had to ask a stranger for help finding his way home.) The Mexican man was drunk and hit the teenagers' car, killing both girls. This one got a lot more attention than local news stories usually do, because Bill O'Reilly picked up on it.

Now there is a brouhaha about a football player named Vick who has a house in Virginia Beach. The police raided his home and discovered dogs who were being trained for dog fighting and dogs who were recovering from it. This story has gone national as well, so now the local news is covering the national coverage--"See how the Richmond courthouse has been turned into a circus by LOCAL dogfighting charges!"

Every day there is another fire reported. Jube jokes about how they are mentioned: "An evening fire today" or "An afternoon blaze" are how they are introduced. He says, "Soon there will be a teatime conflagration!" Unfortunately the same language is used about car crashes and violent crimes, leading viewers to believe that there are daily shootings and pileups (it's hard not to think so when you hear about the "early morning shooting in Downtown Norfolk").

In the interest of full disclosure, I didn't really watch the regional news in France. It was really boring! I didn't watch the national news either... Well, that's not totally true. I usually caught the "Six' Minutes" on M6. It is really just a "headlines" kind of show, where the news is finished in (you guessed it!) six minutes. I wish that that kind of program existed over here. It made staying informed a lot more painless!

Hammam

Sometimes, after you have been in an air-conditioned building for three hours, stepping outside in the summer sunshine can feel great. Lately it hasn't been like that here. Instead it feels like you step into a very well-lit sauna, fully clothed. Condensation immediately forms on your body, and there is no way to keep your hair from curling. It reminds me of the summers I spent in Washington, D.C., where it would storm at least once a week, which only made it more humid the next day.

It also reminds me of the first summer I spent in France, the notorious heatwave summer of 2003, when thousands of people died in Paris. I don't remember feeling this hot then, maybe because it was less humid. In the South of France, it is certainly hot, but there is really no humidity to speak of (at least not in Montpellier or Nice). Last summer I spent several afternoons sitting in the shade in a courtyard. I didn't sweat unless I moved into the sun or went inside. Here in Norfolk, even sitting in the shade can't protect you from the humidity.

I had to laugh when I saw a public service announcement on the local (Hampton Roads) news the other day: because it is so hot, they are asking people to donate wall air conditioning units for families in need. I remember a French public service announcement I saw last summer, which recommended lots of cold showers and visiting businesses that had air conditioning. The solution I found in 2003 involved getting very comfortable with my own body. Before that summer, I would never walk around my house naked. Like a revelation, I realized how much less hot I felt when I didn't have any clothes on! It was just too hot to wear clothes indoors!

I have to say that this custom has continued for me back in the US. Although we do have central air in our apartment, we don't have a lot of money to run it, and I end up feeling guilty about the environment. Lately, though, my solution has been to turn on the air conditioning for a few hours a day. It's a little easier for any guests we might have...

Europe in a Day

Yesterday I went to Italy, Germany, France, and the British Isles all in the same day. Ha ha, not really, I just went to Busch Gardens: Europe, which is broken up into little sections that are based on European Countries. Of course, the Europe depicted there more closely corresponds with stereotypes and theme-park kitsch than actual European countries. The roller coasters were pretty cool, but the best part about Busch Gardens is the availability beer! By the end of the night Rosa and I had seen several close calls, with people fighting about cutting in line, not-quite-quiet-enough insults, and father-son disputes. Plus it made my meal in Germany extra good--what goes better with sausage, saurkraut, and potatoes than beer?

We went with a group of mixed nationality, including Korean, Chinese, Turkish, Senegalese, Saudi, and Venezuelan, and made several discoveries by the end of the day:

Dogs do not speak the same language (they say, variously, "mong," "how," "woof," and "wah"), while cats can understand each other the world over (they all say "meow");

Fart jokes make everyone laugh;

Boys are less likely to ride scary roller coasters than girls (if you go according to our group dynamics, that is).

We didn't get back to Norfolk until late at night, so we dropped everyone off in front of their apartment building/ house/ residence hall. Rosa was especially nervous because of reports of a flasher stalking the campus. We escaped that fate and all made it home safely.

Election!

I guess one of the previous inhabitants of our apartment was a gun owner, because I just got a little postcard from a gun dealer addressed to him. It basically said,

"Hello fellow gun-nut. I just wanted to tell you that the Democratic primary is coming up for your district. Now, I'm no Democrat, but the winner of the primary will be running unopposed, so this is basically the final election. Luckily for us, primaries in Virginia are open to everybody who wants to vote in them. Johnny Joannou, one of the best defenders of the Second Amendment is running against Henry Light. Joannou is a longtime resident of this district and will make sure you have no problems keeping that gun you bought from us. Henry Light is some newcomer who wants 'common-sense gun laws' in Virginia. So please, go vote this Tuesday for Joannou and then head to the firing range."

Now, I'd been vaguely aware of the upcoming primary, but I hadn't been planning on voting. Now I think I just might go because of this postcard. Anything to break down that pesky Second Amendment, right?

UPDATE:

Come On In!

This brochure was included with Jube's green card. It explains that there are lots of important things you need to do as a new immigrant to the US, but it doesn't go into detail about how to do those important things. Instead it gives lots of Internet addresses and toll-free numbers to call. I didn't know before receiving this pamphlet that Permanent Residents have to regiter for Selective Service. Luckily Jube is too old for it, so we escaped that onerous duty.

It wasn't until I reached the last page (the back cover) of the brochure that I realized that there was, in fact, an actual "Guide for New Immigrants" that you can request by calling a(nother) toll-free number or print one out "at an 'Internet Cafe.'"

We haven't ordered one yet. It amused me to receive the tiny informational pamphlet along with the green card. I mean, Jube's been here for 6 months now, so any guide comes a little late. It reminds me of the medical visit I had to undergo in France to make sure I didn't have tuberculosis--it took place a month after I had arrived, started working, and spreading my American maladies far and wide.

Bureaucracy! Inescapable and inscrutable, it has become my companion just as Jube has.

Fin Avril

Last year at this time Jube and I were nervously waiting to receive word about his fiance visa. We were unaware of how long it would take to get everything set. His parents called every day for a week asking for the date of the wedding because they were sure that plane ticket prices would soar for every delayed minute... My mother kept cool (at least on the phone with me!) and drove to Norfolk to find us an apartment... We were not yet worried about his immigration, but focused more on our jobs. I remember quite clearly my mixed feelings on the bank holidays on May 1st and May 8th: I was happy I didn't have to work, but Mondays were my "big days" and I would be losing a lot of revenue.

This year I am not worried about money or immigration. I have a concrete plan for my summer and Jube just received his "green" card (it's actually white...). Instead, I am temporarily stressed out about my finals. I'm sure that after next Friday I will be relaxed, ready for my part-time job. [I recently realized how wonderful working 20 hours a week is. I think it's the perfect amount. Unfortunately I don't think I'll be able to get as much money as I might working full-time, but it's always nice to dream!]

We also attended a French speaking get-together yesterday. There were three French citizens, one Franco-American, one Englishman, and some 'mericans. I was happy that I hadn't lost much French, and it was great for my ego that two people asked if my parents were French. (100% American, if you're wondering.) As always, I don't know how amazing my grammar is, but my southern French accent manages to fool them. In fact, when I was first learning French, I couldn't exactly have a conversation. Jube's friends found phrases like tant pis hilarious when I said them, because I had such a heavy Meridional accent. This used to bother me--I mean, I was trying really hard to speak French, and all that happened was that people laughed at me! But then I realized that it would be pretty freakin' hilarious if a Frenchie would say things like "Hi y'all! Ah'm Pierre!"

It was interesting to meet French expats in the US. Some of them were going through the same culture shock I experienced and that I still read about on other blogs. I'm really glad that Jube isn't having trouble acclimating to the US. I can hardly remember how out of place I used to feel during my first few months in France.

Anyway, I guess I'll get back to grinding out papers. Only 14 more pages to go...

Colonial Times

Last week two of Jube's friends came to visit from Ohio. It's always lots of fun to have friends visit, for a couple of reasons:

First, you get to spend time with your buds! When BB visited us in Nice last year, I got a chance to show off my favorite parts of the city and share everything with one of my bestest friends. This past week we had a great time with some Ohio friends--we'd seen them when we went to Columbus during winter break, but it was fun to have them at our house. We took them to my favorite smoothie place and our favorite seafood place and our favorite Irish pub.

Second, you get to visit parts of your region you'd never seen before. In our case, we went to Colonial Williamsburg. It is a bit pricy to get in ($36 for a day pass) but it was really really fun. We got to hear speeches by George Washington and Benedict Arnold. Our friend Nikos, who is in law school, enjoyed the colonial courthouse, where the guide explained the difference between lots of different crimes and punishments. We also got to see a blacksmith making nails and a military exposition.

The weather was really wonderful, and we were able to fool the Ohio boys into thinking that the weather in Norfolk is balmy year-round. The day after they left the temperatures plunged 30 degrees (from 80 to 50), but they figured that it was just because they had gone back to Ohio.

Livret

Today Jube and I received our livret de famille in the mail. It looks like a bigger version of my US passport: navy blue with a gold crest on the front. The only downside is that they misspelled my name inside. It seems to be a common mistake for speakers of Latin languages, since they made the same mistake on my Spanish student visa.

Now in only 3 years and 9 months I have the "right to French nationality." However, there were a couple of parts of the contract I was unaware of until we received the livret. First of all, there are les obligations alimentaires. I have to feed Belle-mere and Beau-pere, and Jube has to feed my parents, and they have to feed us too. Fun, eh? But it's okay, I like to cook. Mom, Dad, Belle-maman, Beau-papa: you'll never go hungry again! There are also rules about the surnames we can legally give our children, how soon we have to report their births, and other interesting financial obligations.

I have to say, the livret de famille is much more informative than an American marriage certificate. Now I know exactly what I signed up for...

Anti-American?

Yesterday I did the same lesson with two groups of students. It is about the "Slow Food" movement, which was created in the '80s to oppose fast food. The phrase "to counter the American invasion" appears in one of the documents.

In the first class, a middle-aged man read aloud about the philosophy of slow food, breaking off to add editorial comments. For example, after he read, "the traditional image of the family eating together around a table is disappearing," he looked up at me and said, "I am agree." He did this a few times, and was quite interested in trying to provoke me. "Yes, what is the traditional American foods? It's just hamburgers, eh?" However, he loves debating in class, and enjoyed answering me. At the end of class he thanked me for the interesting material.

The other lesson is an individual course with a young man in his 20s. He loves to talk, and unlike many of my students, loves to ask me questions. As he read the offending phrase about Americans, his voice trailed off and he glanced up at me, as though afraid he had offended me. I couldn't help but laugh, and he assured me that he didn't feel that there was any American invasion going on--"I like action films, but there are no French action films, so I have to see American ones--but that is not America's fault." Wonderful!

Of all of my students, none of them has exhibited the "anti-American" sentiments supposedly exhibited by the French. They all love to tease me about McDonald's, though . . .

I'm Comin' Home . . .

For Christmas.

Hooray!

I don't know if I've mentioned it on here before, although I know I've talked about the New Year's Eve wedding I will be attending. It's in Pennsylvania! I'm going to be visiting a town I've never been to before! Besides that, I will be opening lots of little presents at Christmas. The Christmases I've spent in France were really fun. La Belle-Famille is very welcoming, and I have experienced all the French holiday traditions: escargots, oysters, the crèche under the tree, the TV bloopers on New Year's Eve . . . But nothing compares to my childhood memories of stockings, fireplaces, the crèche on top of the TV, and our traditional Christmas Eve dinner of coldcuts and Californias.

I also absolutely love unwrapping surprises, which just can't happen in Jube's family. Everyone knows what they will get, and they only get one thing. That's fine if you want one big present--but I also love unwrapping my mother's practical gifts. We always receive toothbrushes, deoderant, and underwear, although she stopped giving feminine hygiene products after one ended up in my brother's stocking (he was extremely disappointed!). Jube doesn't understand that I want a surprise for Christmas. Every year, I try to give him hints, but he doesn't remember them. By the end of November, he is actually asking me outright what I want, and if I don't tell him, he gets upset. I know that Jube really loves me and cares about me because he can't stomach the idea of giving me a gift I might like only a little bit. But I like the surprise just as much! [Of course, he has also seen the home videos of my 10-year-old self almost breaking down in tears on Christmas morning because my step-father gave me clothes! It was a really good idea, but badly timed--one year later and I would have been overjoyed. And of course it was all caught on camera . . .]

In order to go back to the States, I had to get my papers in order. That means: a trip to the Prefecture. Ugh. In September, I had received a récipissé allowing me to work, and expiring in December. I was told to come back two months later to pick up the permanent resident card. I waited a bit longer to give them more time, and made the decision to venture back today. Yesterday we called them to make sure we knew the opening times. The first time we called, we were told that they were open between one and two pm, but "why are you asking? The times are written on the récipissé." Uhh, no, they weren't. We decided to call back again to clarify this, and were given a totally different response: "You are not to come back unless you have received a convocation in the mail." By this time, I was ready to cry and I hadn't even been to the Prefecture yet. It didn't seem to be shaping up as the best bureaucratic trip ever.

We arrived at around 1:15pm, and waited in the relatively short (!) line. When it was our turn, I opened my mouth to speak, and this came out: "Bonbonjour madadame, je mumble mumble carte de séjour mumble mumble a pas recu une convocation mais mumble mumble." Jube looked at me, horrified. He quickly took over and explained that all we wanted to do was pick up my resident card. No, it wasn't ready yet, but they extended my récipissé, which is just as good (except that it means we have to go back in another 3 months). I couldn't believe myself--even if the Prefecture experience isn't bad, I manage to create my own problems. After that harrowing linguistic experience, Jube got his international driving license with no problems, and we came back home. I just want my family to know what I went through for them. Maybe they can buy me some presents to make up for it!

Thanksgiving Dinner

This is a picture of the turkey before I baked it. I gave it a nice massage with oil and scented herbs and stuffed it full of bread. Then it got to go in the sauna for about 3 hours. And afterwards, it got to undergo surgical weight loss. It was very tasty!

I freaked out about 45 minutes into the roasting because there was no juice to baste it and it didn't looked cooked at all! I called my parents, who reassured me that it would turn out fine. And it certainly did, no small thanks to the thermometer that my mother sent it to me when I couldn't find one in France! All of the guests enjoyed it, and the pumpkin pie was authentically delicious. Yum! I also made green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, and gravy. Miam! On my way home from work, I stopped to buy some cranberry sauce. I had searched everywhere, and finally asked the English video clerk where to find it. There were tons of other products too, like Dr Pepper, Worcestershire Sauce, and salad dressing--even cream of mushroom soup! I had given up on making the green bean casserole without cream of mushroom soup, since I couldn't find it, and I finally decided not to buy it either because it cost about 3 Euros per can! The cranberry sauce cost 2€90, but I ended up buying it anyway. It was worth it.

Now I think the turkey chemicals are kicking in, because we all settled down to watch television (although there is no parade or football game) and are quietly dozing off . . .

Nice Saturday

Jube and I woke up early yesterday and ventured into town to find a butcher. Why did we need to find a butcher? Because I am going to introduce Thanksgiving to his family, and turkeys are not easy to find at the supermarket in November. We found a butcher's and ordered a turkey (minimum 3 kilos--6.5lbs) for next Friday. The butcher couldn't tell us how much it would cost until he got in touch with his "suppliers." He'll call and leave a message tomorrow. Let's hope it's not too expensive . . .

On to Thanksgiving for a moment. It is a holiday that is relatively difficult for the French to understand and relatively hard for an American to explain [e.g. "It's not a religious holiday," I say; response: "Then whom are you thanking?" Good question!]. Added to that is their inability to pronounce Thanksgiving: it ends up something like Sahnsgeeveen. Since "saint" is pronounced (something like) "sahn," and saints' days are celebrated here (think of Toussaint--All Saints' Day), le Pacha asked which saint's day it was--Gavin, perhaps? So la belle-famille is coming to Nice to celebrate Saint Gavin with me by eating a turkey. I'm sure we will all enjoy it very much. Jube even bought a "spice bread" scented candle to make the apartment smell like America.

We also headed out to Cap 3000 yesterday. Cap 3000 is a shopping center on the outskirts of Nice. We bought a gift for the wedding, and I found my belt! Here is a sneak preview:



I know you can't see either the belt in its full glory or the dress, but it gives you an idea of my outfit. (Add in the earrings and a pair of black slouchy boots and you have the whole picture!) When I bought the belt, I spoke to the saleswoman in French (of course!), and Jube talked to me in English the whole time, making fun of me "pretending to be French." He said the words "French" and "American" so much that as we were leaving, the saleswoman asked if I were French. I was forced to answer negatively, which cracked Jube up for the rest of the night. "Even if you don't have an accent, I manage to give you away!"

Doctor, Doctor!

Yesterday, I went to the doctor. It was probably the best of my medical experiences in France, although there was one major drawback: America bashing! Let me explain.

I made an appointment for 11:30am. I arrived 15 minutes early, armed with a book, ready to wait for a loooooooong time. However, I was seen immediately, and was out even before 11:30! The docteur was a woman, specializing in sports medicine, although she is obviously qualified to do general check-ups. We spoke about my medical history, and then she listened to my heartbeat and breathing, took my blood pressure, and felt my legs. She told me, "Do you play any sports? I didn't think so! We French are very skinny. You, mademoiselle, have to be very careful about your weight. It's not like America here! No eating between meals, you can have 4 a day--that is American, right? In France, we only eat 3. 3 meals a day is best."

But, but . . . ! I wanted to protest, "Just because I'm American doesn't mean that it's in my genes to be obese! And besides, we only eat 3 meals a day." It wasn't the worst I've ever experienced. Living in France has given me an idea of what it is like to be an immigrant in the US, and although it is sometimes disagreeable, it is always enlightening.

Before I left, she wrote me prescriptions. Besides my usual, she asked if I wanted anything else. I was extremely surprised! Why would a doctor ask me if I wanted another prescription? and then I remembered--in France, to get Advil or Tylenol or Aspégic (plain aspirin--Jube's favorite), you have to have a prescription. That is the reason that the French go to the doctor for every little cold--because they need Dimetap! Unfortunately, before I had managed to grasp the reason for the question, I had confusedly mumbled, "Non, merci." Luckily I have enough Advil in stock to keep me for awhile!

UPDATE: No, you don't NEED a prescription to get Tylenol or Advil, you just have to ask the pharmacist and she will give it to you. It's BETTER to have a prescription because then it is reimbursed by the government.