2 Things

1. When someone's shooting at you, it's really important that your luggage survive unharmed.

2. Tips on Living Alone

Searching for Bobby Fischer...So I Can Kick His Ass!

Oh, that wonderful boy-miracle chess genius, Bobby Fischer. Who else got really mad at the chess teacher who was tricking him in the movie? Well, now I feel sorry for the chess teacher. It turns out that as a young child, Bobby habitually tortured small creatures. Though Jewish, he spent years railing against the evil ways of the Jews to anyone who would listen. He's fucked up. I guess I'm more mad at the movie than at him, since he's just crazy. Or was crazy, I guess he kicked the bucket recently.

No joke! Really!

I’m starting a regime of diet and exercise! No, seriously. It’s for real this time. It started yesterday when I ran up and down seven flights of stairs twice. This took ten minutes, and burned my lungs. Today I bought apples, strawberries, hummus, and fat-free yogurt. I’m going to be so healthy and long-living, it will be awesome. Maybe I can go up and down the stairs three times tonight? N told me that I should go running in a park, but I don’t think that it’s worth the metro trip when the trip will probably be about eight times as long as the time spent running. Maybe I can work up to forty-five minutes or something, though. I used to be able to do that when I was young. I've included a picture projecting what I'll look like in about three and a half weeks, just as a reference.

Les Films

I am so freaking excited for these movies:
-Disco
-J'ai toujours rêvé d'être un gangster
Also, might go see Horton. I like elephants. Maybe also Crimes of Oxford.

If I Lived In Nazi Germany, Would I Be A Nazi? (Looks like "yes")

Remember how my laptop bag broke? Well, I got a new one at the GAP for thirty euros. It was way cheaper because it was in the men’s section, but the guy at the counter made up for the price difference by lightly harassing me for buying a bag intended for guys. It’s a black canvas messenger bag, I hope I’m not mistaken for a man! Though of course this confusion would be understandable considering the circumstances. Then I had to buy a less huge bag to get me to and from work, so I folded (haha) and bought a Longchamp. (Explanation of joke: their bags are famous for folding up.) One of my favorite metro games since I’ve gotten here has been counting the Longchamps, because they are everywhere. The French uniform for girls is a black coat with a scarf over it, knee-length boots, and a Longchamp. I bought the boots in anticipation of this trip, and have added the coat and finally the bag during my time here. This all raises the question: where does my conformity stop? Sure, it’s all good when it means low-price high-quality purses, but would I be wearing a big gold crucifix if I lived in Texas? Regardless, this purse is awesome. I think I’ve already made up the money spent by the elimination of future chiropractor bills. I can put a dictionary, book, wallet, gloves, umbrella, glasses case, keys, and cell phone in there and it feels like nothing. Also, when walking by a man who was yelling at every tourist, he ignored me. Because now I look French. The illusion stops when I open my mouth.

Celeb Gossip!

OMFG, guys! I totally called the offices of some celebrities to send them some pants. I talked to Brad Pitt’s office, and I’m still freaking.

Seriously though, I did. The guy who picked up the phone was such a bro.
Me: “I’m calling on behalf of…blahblahblah…can we send a sample pair to Brad Pitt?”
Him: “Do you want his home address?”
Me: “Umm, I just need an address, where I can, mail these pants-“
Him: “I’m kidding! Do you actually think I’d tell you where Brad and Angelina live!?”
Me: “I thought it seemed a little weird-”
Him: “I’m gonna go ahead and transfer you to Paul Bloch’s office, have a good one.”

I know Brad Pitt’s pant size. Kind of like if we’re girlfriend-boyfriend. I also know other famous people’s jean sizes now. Tom Cruise wins shortest, John Travolta wins fattest. The actual measurements? Wouldn’t you like to know…

MICE!

There are mice in my dorm. A lot of them. I saw them last night when I was watching this indie after-school special, Twelve and Holding, downstairs at 3:00 AM. That’s when they come out. The movie was good, but the mice worry me. They are on the same floor as our kitchen. They’re still cute and stuff, though.

I'm Watching You: Chicks on Speed

Chicks on Speed, the girl DIY band, has come out with a shirt for H&M. The profits go to AIDS victims. Maybe I’m the only one who remembers their GoGo Paris interview less than a year ago when they said that they would never support H&M due to sweatshop labor issues, noting that they "feel blood on their hands" when they touch the clothes. Why the change of heart? Also, what’s worse, not helping AIDS prevention or supporting sweatshop labor? Couldn’t they use a different source to utilize their celebrity status in order to raise funds and awareness for AIDS?

Norma v. The Rake

I went to an opera in Berlin called “Norma”, which was about as exciting as the name suggests. It was about a woman whose husband falls in love with a young girl, so she decides to kill her kids. Thirty minutes later she can’t do it, so she asks her husband to come back to her and forget all about it. Otherwise, she’ll kill him. The decision is obvious: he chooses death in about thirty seconds. It takes twenty minutes for Norma to decide to kill herself as well, and another twenty to convince Norma’s dad to take the kids. I fell asleep during the joint suicide, but considering how rested I felt when I woke up it must have taken a while. It was in Italian, with German subtitles, so that didn’t help either. I came out of that one feeling okay about the fact that opera is on the verge of becoming a dead art form. Good riddance, Norma.

I tried opera again in Paris, and came out with an opposite perspective. The opera was called “The Rake’s Progress”. It was a morality tale about a guy who makes a deal with the devil, who leads him to temptation. After a ton of sex the devil gets him to marry a bearded woman in order to conquer his lust, and then he gets into communism…I know it sounds weird, but it was really, really good. W.H. Auden wrote the book, and Stravinsky did the score. The merging of the music, the lyrics, and the stage production was really perfect. I got these really good seats because if you’re one of the first ten people in a special line (consisting of students, the elderly, and the unemployed) they are discounted. My seat is normally about $170, but I paid $40. I could read the score over the organist’s shoulder. Anyway, now I’m pretty much sold on opera, maybe. I guess I should see a third one and see where I land. It was kind of silly, because I had a dress and fancy shoes packed in my workbag, so I had to change in the opera bathroom. I always wonder if anyone notices when I do that. Speaking of that bag, it’s breaking. $40 at Target, who could see this one coming? It cost the same as my opera ticket, but the opera ticket was better, since the memories will last a lifetime. Just kidding, that’s totally dumb. I needed a bag to put my stuff in, if I had carried it with my bare hands those bad memories would have lasted a lifetime, too. Sometimes I’m not sure how to put a monetary value on things.

Stranger Danger

An American guy came up to me the other day and asked me if I was a prostitute. The typical response to this has been “what were you wearing?” Jeans, flats, a long coat. I was waiting by a metro stop in a pretty hip but innocuous part of town. Not all who wander are lost, and not all who stand still are prostitutes. His exact words were “Are you for sale?” I have spent about probably two hours total thinking of caustic responses, but I still have nothing. It’s harder since it’s a pretty direct question. So if you say “why, are you buying?” or something like that, then they would just be like “yes, I am…” I guess most of my mean phrases usually would be something implying that the guy couldn’t get laid, but he’s basically already admitting that by looking for a prostitute.

Also, a crazy homeless woman tried to spit on PS. Luckily, she missed. I think I understand when people talk about animal instincts, because my first reaction after shock was to do something aggressive back to her. She had already crossed the street, so it came down to me yelling some bad words in English. Once I got a little more collected I yelled bad words at her in French. Then I looked like the crazy one, because she had already sat down quietly on her steps. I do have a better idea for this one in retrospect. We were in the Jewish quarter, so I should have yelled “Why, because we’re Jewish!?” This would have roused some spirits. But much like picking on the guy looking for a prostitute, it seems like you can only be so mean to a crazy homeless woman, even if she tried to spit on your (one’s) boyfriend.

Experiment

(Part One: Written Last Night) I just got peer-pressured by a janitor into smoking hash, and now my sweatshirt smells like smoke. This made me realize that I freaking love that sweatshirt, and that I have worn it nearly every day consecutively for three weeks (gross?), and that I can’t wait for laundry time to wear it again. So I’m dangling it out the window in the hopes that the smell will air out.

(Part Two: Present) It didn't work. What did work was putting it over my heater all day. I think it dispersed the smell throughout the room. Great!

Ways I Have Put My Life In Danger Recently

1. Jaywalking. I'm not going to say that you shouldn't jaywalk, since I'm realistic. But I will say this: give yourself time to trip and get back up, or make the cars stop for you. I had enough time to run across the other day, but I nearly tripped. If I had totally tripped, I might be dead. So, watch out.
2. Salmon, 2 days past expiration.
3. Cheese, 1 day past expiration.

BUT I skipped out on the ham not past expiration that smelled like alcohol and was shriveled. So that's good, right?

Space Jam

Some people still aren't over the Space Jam soundtrack. Namely, the French people. "I Believe I Can Fly" is really big over here. Probably even bigger than Billie Jean.

My boss let me go two hours early today! I also finally found a cheap, warm place to eat close by. I basically have to buy lunch every day, otherwise I'm stuck in the office or outside in the cold. But $5.00 daily is a small price to pay for an hour of heat.

Installment #1 of Berlin-Prague-Vienna trip: On the plane to Berlin I was talking to a man in French. I made a stupid mistake, translating directly from English I asked what time it is but in French it's asking about the weather. So I corrected myself, and he was like, "the time's the same, but I don't know about the weather". Just to kind of stick it to me. We kept talking, he asked me if I was American, I said yes and asked him where he was from. France? No. Germany? No. Where? Ireland. We're still in French. So I switch to English. "Oh, haha, I've been speaking French this whole time." "J'ai été en France depuis six ans." Umm, what? He literally refused to speak English with me. So pompous.

..But The Kid Is Not My Son!

I am pretty proud of myself today; I talked to a girl from Marie Claire on the phone and sent her some shoes. Wow, now that I write it out it sounds really easy and dumb, huh?

The office is really, really cold. First day outfit: skirt and shirt with cardigan. Second day: jeans with shirt and cardigan. Third day: tights under jeans and a cashmere sweater, and I was still shivering. Tomorrow I'm breaking out the fingerless gloves.

Which provides a perfect transition for my next topic: popular Michael Jackson songs. At home it's all about Thriller, but I swear I've heard Billie Jean more in the past two months than I have in my entire life. Every store, all the time. I still can't figure out all of the words, but I can make sounds that sound like the words. She was shmata devansa lee...

First Day of the Rest of My Life!?

I'm back from my amazing Berlin-Prague-Vienna tour! I don't really have the energy to write on this right now, but I think as work news slows I can go back and document all.

I decided to forego second interviews etc. and take the job with VV, of which I just finished my second day. I know that sentence doesn't work in the grammatical sense, but it does illustrate the state of my brain. The first day was wonderful; I showed up at 2:00 PM and was given tea and chocolate bears with marshmallow stuffing. I browsed some catalogues and took off around 5:30 or 6:00. Best internship ever? Not so fast. Day 2 started with writing copy for a press release. In French. I can barely order a baguette without shaking in fear, so this was a challenge to say the least. Thank you a million times, whoever built in the thesaurus for Microsoft Word! This may have saved my life today. Afterwards I had lunch by myself at a bar. I have a new pick-up line as a result: just go up to a girl and start saying your number. Or a boy. It probably would be funny to a native speaker, but it took me three times of asking the guy to repeat himself before I got the joke. The latter half of the day was spent compiling a contact list. This is something that requires a person, but just barely. Remember that gorilla Coco? She might be able to do it, too. I basically just looked up all the websites of all the companies that were at Berlin Fashion Week and wrote their emails into an Excel Spreadsheet. There are ten lists of companies, so far I'm on the Bs of the second list. For distraction, my boss Jean-Paul keeps the radio on. It's one of those top 40 stations, so now I know all the words to all the cool songs. Literally, all the words. After one day. The playlist repeats a lot.

Something I have already learned is that if I ever start my own business, I will hire a few people to work for me right away. I understand why Jean-Paul hired an inept intern; it gets really lonely just staring at a computer by yourself all day. He left me alone for about an hour, and I can't say how excited I was when a delivery guy showed up. I think I made him uncomfortable with my enthusiasm. Jean-Paul starts work before I do, doesn't take a lunch, and finishes at least an hour after I do. He's single, and doesn't seem to have any evening plans ever. If I had to choose between his job and selling at the GAP, it would be a close call. I don't know how he does it, and I hope I never have to. It's not the hours, but the lack of company is depressing.

Despite the mental exhaustion/ennui, I'm really glad to be doing this internship. I think that I've already learned a lot, and I'm getting three months to see what I like (or don't like) about work environments and this line of work. Plus I really like those chocolate marshmallow bear candies.