Well, maybe I don’t care after all.

This blog and friend (I am talking of the author, you silly) made me smile and want to post a useless post.

**********

2007/2009: I want to go to the U.S.

Summer 2009: OMG I am meeting Americans.

2009/2010: OMG those Americans are still my friends. Still want to go to the U.S. but moved my butt to Germany instead.

2010/2011: Back in Paris. Sightly depressed by the weather and the lack of (persistent) social interaction. Or maybe I just don’t have friends. My crazy plans: going back to Germany, working my ass off, being accepted by any American university, and live in the country of superlatives (read: of literally the sweetest food in the world).

2011: Spent two months writing applications, i.e. failed at being productive and eating correctly.. Almost died of imaginary panick attacks. Now wishing to discover a nice email from any American university (yes… I admit I am hopeful a fool). Been upgraded to a, to quote a friend’s dad, Half-bright  inbetween (was invited to an interview with a Fulbright commitee).

**********

Studying in the U.S. That was my plan… until I developped an irrational attachment to family, friends, fantastic (read: European) food; a sudden and irrational interest for Eastern Asia; a slight allergy to papers and piles of books. Silly brain.

Ironically whining

[ February 8, 12:30PM, Cologne ]

I was in a lift in the company of two adorable women: “Could you please avoid blocking the door? Oho, can you hear me?! I don’t want to have to run through the platform to reach my train, we are already late.”

Note that the train was supposed to leave at 12:43.

Just a foretaste of Paris.

Yes, I know how ironic this post is.

Unterminiere bitte deine Lebensfreude

My name is Stupid. I lived a year in Bonn, then headed back home (in France) for a year, before coming back to Germany. My hottest trait: overthinking unsignificant things and drawing parallels between what I have experienced, and what I am currently experiencing. This is the first time that I have the feeling that what I am living is a repetition of what I did live, except slightly “worse”.

Two years ago

I was naive, I thought my stay in Bonn was an extended summer vacation. My days consisted in attending classes, cooking, procrastinating, meeting up with Sprachtandems, and enjoying my 15 min long walk to uni (which included crossing the Rhine river and thus embracing a breathtaking view, breathing in pollution, taking small paved roads, etc.).

Now

I should start reading for my MA Thesis but I am still stuck with application-related stuff. I live in a neat appartment in the company of spiders. I depend on public transport to go to uni (ok, granted, I am 10 min away by tram , which  is really nothing, but I guess I just love ridiculous self-pity parties). Most of all, I did not have the time to arrive earlier in Bonn to get used to the German way of life. I brought my Parisian stress with me.

 

A few hours ago

That was til I kicked my arse. Because there are two few people here who appreciate true anale personality.

On a hypothetical book back cover

[Author's name], non agrégée et encore moins normalienne, is pleased to offer the most comprehensive and complete study of the different cultural ways to avoid jerks. It first provides a thorough typography of the aforementioned species, including the whiners and the scornful/arrogant people, drawing on the author’s unique experience. The book then provides a skein of useless ineffective pieces of advice in order to turn them into better persons without (1) having to act like a psycho in public, (2) being investigated, (3) being sued.

Editor’s note: Spending 60 dollars on this book is reasonable considering the frequency you may need to refer to this book in your life.

Summer vacation or how to fry your brain with dignity

July, week one and two

Leading an aimless life and being a loathsome worm.

July, week three, four and five

Spending three weeks in lovely, colourful, and rainy Danmark. Which includes crying whenever I checked the price of Danish books, nodding as if I could understand a conversation in Danish, and being deprived of any answer in Danish though I made the tremendous effort to speak their language.

Semi-related: I learnt how to say “Did you take a poop?” in Japanese (I now know how to say it in seven languages) and watch a Dane swim in the clean yet cold canal of Copenhagen.

August

August started with a disease of the throat (and I am not talking about the Danish language), followed by weeks of brain death. I became dumber and number after reviewing for the GRE and the TOEFL. The only semi-intellectual activity consisted in working on Lithuanian Jews, going to the French National Library to check books, and crying over the fact that I had no life.

September

Put an end to brain death by taking the GRE and the TOEFL. Ran back and forth between Paris and my place to finalywe my application at la Sorbonne and collect various items for an ulterior application to grad schools. Made my last pilgrimage to libraries to copy books I may not have access to in Germany.

Now, the only thing I can hope for is that no shit will happen.

———

Revised version on September 29, 2011.

 

This past year

(A small post about my modest experience.)

About a year ago, a good friend of mine suggested I should attend another M.A. parallel to my M.Phil. at la Sorbonne: “The Ecole des hautes études en sciences sociales (EHESS) provides a real good research training and you will keep an interdisciplinary perspective. Etc.” It sounded alluring so I applied to “Arts and Languages” and got accepted. Then reality hit me in the face.

- I live an hour away from Paris ; wasting about two hours a day commuting is quite a challenge.
- I was told more than once that what I was doing was suicidal difficult, and that many students who started a dual M.A. had to give up one of them.
- My schedule was pretty full: most of my seminars at the EHESS ended at 7pm, meaning I was home at 8pm.
- I had to write a M.Phil. thesis for la Sorbonne and submit a (solid?) M.A. thesis topic proposal for the EHESS. Which means that I (a) spent hours in the library and/or at home trying to focus on books while being sleep drunk, (b) had to bear loud people in the library, (c) dreamt of chocking a couple of loud high schoolers who sneaked into the German Department library, and (d), as the truth must be told, did not have an extended social life.
- Oh, and I don’t drink coffee (except two weeks a year), it gives yellow teeth. Yeah, it would have matched my skin colour, I know.

 

Given those circumstances, I am very proud to brag say that I made it. How?

- If there is one thing I have learnt from Americans is this very question: “Yeah, why not?” Being a typical French (Parisian?) pessimist, I needed a good mind-framing. Don’t be sensitive to what people think of you or your projects. Focus on those who heartedly lie to you: “Of course, you can do it!”, that is it. In that respect, I wanted to thank each of you who supported my crazy ideas.
- Stay organized no matter what. Always do everything ahead. I was shitting bricks last year because I was badly organized and had been procrastinating, so that I did not use my six months in an efficient way to write my B.A. senior thesis. Plus, I realized too late I would have needed a whole year to write a good one and get more guidance, and most of all, to proof read my German properly. So this year I started reading from September on and allowed myself a month to proofread.
- Break your gigantic work into smaller workloads and set a tight schedule. If you don’t manage to respect it, do EXTRA HOURS. It’s a job, so do it.
- Keep a healthy way of life so that your brain cells remain more or less fresh. You can try to starve yourself every now and then, it makes you think faster (JK).
- No self-pity party.

Also, be aware that your mentors’ guidance is very important. You should pick your mentors carefully depending on their areas of interest (obviously!), but also depending on whether or not they have time for you. You need to meet up regularly so that they can discuss your work, criticize it, and recommend further readings. Bad mentors are the ones who don’t manage (or refuse) to find the time for you, and who barely criticize your work. Those who are psycho-rigid and think *their* way of thinking is the only good one belong to that category too. And yes, it is tedious and unpleasant to be told what you have been writing is not good (or worse), but you better get it demolished now than on the day you submit/defend it.

Informal conversations can also give you surprises. As I have always kept an interdisciplinary perspective, my conversations with a friend in econs and sociology were – still are – highly stimulating in the sense that you would connect ideas which, at first sight, have nothing to do with each other.

By the way, this modest insight applies only if you want to (or try to) go on further in research. It is not about being motivated by a place in a famous institution (even though that must come into consideration) or by high salaries (I honestly think I have “fait vœu de pauvreté” by willing to go on this way), but by topics and problematiques you would like to investigate during years, by new perspectives your own work brings to you (and possibly to other people, as you need FUNDING).

Oh, I forgot. I probably did not talk about it that much, but there is actually a life besides “studying/researching”. Make time for it too.

Et comme le dirait si bien Mme L., prof. d’allemand

“Soyez modeste !” before concluding with “Und wenn die Welt voll Teufel wär’…”

A more superficial post is coming right after my work is done. If I die meanwhile, I want white roses on my tombstone. And Mon Chéri chocolate. And two Martini bottles. And ‘Bonne Maman’ biscuits. And Nokian winter boots. And a pile of Bill Bryson’s books to keep me company while I am going down to hell. You can also kill yourself and become my BFF in hell (not really, I am misanthropic).

———

Definition:

Modesty (n.)

1. A basic and required quality that will serve you if you fail.

2. The step before the I-AM-SO-GOING-TO-BRAG-ANYWAY state.

Proofreading

Proofreading is the activity which consists in:

- trying to convince yourself your piece of shit is the work of a genius
- realizing you do not make sense at all
- realizing you are not a genius… at all
- straining every eye muscle
- damning the German academic language which does not offer the possibility to express the same idea in thirty different ways (we French do have a HUGE choice when it comes to phrasing, mainly in order to hide some intersideral brain void)
- praying that this paper, sent along with your grad school application, will fool professors
- stuffing your face with chocolate every time you are done reading a paragraph
- not getting desperate: ES SOLL UNS DOCH GELINGEN.

———

© 2011 The crazy cow

Self-consciousness and languages

ACCENTS

Some people are not sensitive to one’s accent because they are used to hearing so many ones. I suppose English speaking people would fit in this description. *I* personally tend to grant it much importance. Probably because 1) I like to hear some pronunciation varieties, 2) I live in a country I find quite normative and unifying regarding the language (sorry, it’s probably a Parisian point of view?), 3) I am untolerant.

Thing is, I am very sensitive to one’s accent. If your pronunciation differs from the way I like am used to, I can sometimes focus on it so much that I will lose track of what you are saying. I do not know if this is a good or a bad thing. I probably enjoy distinguishing different voice tones, accentuations, pitches etc. But being aware of it, I do not dare speaking if I know I have a strong accent.

It is the case for many French people I know – without generalizing though. When talking about it with non French friends, they tell me they do not care about accents, the most important is to be understood. A Canadian told me that he even thinks French people underestimate their language skills because they are so self-conscious.

AUTO-CRITICS

Another factor of self-consciousness: auto-critics and auto-correction. French people tend to correct each other. It is almost like a game. “WUT? YOU FORGOT TO PUT YOUR VERB IN THE IMPERFECT SUBJONCTIVE!” Kidding aside, I know that French people would systematically and immediately correct each other, suggest words if they see you cannot find the right phrases, etc. It of course depends on the language syntax, but by contrast, German usually let you speak without suggesting a word – from my very humble experience. They started correcting me after I threatened them begged them to do so.

Sorry, I got slightly carried away. The point is (no, there is actually no point), as SM as it sounds, I feel uncomfortable speaking a language and not being systematically corrected. It is like living with the doubt that I may have made a grammar mistake.

———

Edit: I am not mentioning the eternal debate of how a language should be possibly taught. French stress the written part, it probably contributes to some self consciousness? Or they start – at least in my old times – emphasizing the oral part when kids become teens, that is at the moment when innocent children turn into idiots who like to laugh at each other: “Why are you always answering to all questions in class, you dork?”

Stupid people’s great ideas

“So, what do you think about Bin Laden’s dead?” This question may sound common. Bin Laden is dead, big deal. It is slighty more connotated when asked by a French journalist to random Moroccan Muslim people who have been living over twenty years in France. Because, you know, they are Muslim, ergo they must advocate Bin Laden. Or maybe because, you know, they come from an Arabic country, so they must feel bad for him.

Because, you know, it makes just as much sense as asking a random Christian – a Protestant, for example -, what he thinks about Pope Jean Paul II’s death. (No, the point wasn’t to compare the Pope to Bin Laden.)

Am I the only one who think such questions do promote stupidity?

À la découverte du Šaltibarščiai

I’m taking a little break from my pathetic life to tell you about my impressions of Vilnius (only).

APRIL 10TH, THE DAY I ARRIVED

After five hours of sleep, brick shitting moments (Czech Airlines canceled my reservation without making another one) and pityful facial expressions which earned me a seat in an Air France plane, I landed in Vilnius. I was somewhat disoriented since I was in a completely unknown linguistic environment.

While waiting for the bus – a.k.a trying to avoid clouds of cigarette smoke and taxi drivers -, I learnt basic phrases in Lithuanian… but carefully avoided learning questions requiring a complex answer. I would have found find it awkward to ask a question but not to understand the answer. As for the rest, I supposed tourist sign language might be international.

The bus finally came. I got in and proudly asked in Lithunian: “Ar kalbate angliškai?” He kindly smiled. “Ne.” So I flipped on through the pages of my guide book. As we arrived, the bus driver saw I was looking for a street and stepped off his vehicle to help me. It was very, very kind of him!

It was cold, but I was lucky it was not freezing. Piles of deicing salt (?) were telling me winter just came to an end in Lithuania. I walked up, carefully avoided the round cobblestones (it’s not that fun to have my foot stuck between them) paving narrow winding streets. I also double-checked the traffic lights before crossing the street since it sometimes looked identical to those meant for cars. As I reached the Old Town, I could see that façades were well restaured and colourful. I also knew I just needed to look up to see crosses everywhere. I reached the hostel, dropped my stuff and went out.

CHECK LIST

—> Wander until my fingers froze: CHECK!
—> Smile at kids who couldn’t help but stared at me – not that I am that ugly, I just looked different from local people. CHECK!
—> Meet weird people: CHECK, and RE-CHECK!
1) A quite normal looking guy randomly asked if someone could speak English. As an idiot, I thought he needed a piece of information and said yes. He explained he was Russian, that he wasn’t that well accepted in Lithuania, blabla, and that he needed money to go back to Russia. A Lithuanian guy walked by and gave me a “bummer” look. As I told the Russian I was sorry, he said fuck you. Riiiiight.
2) I met one of the most embarrassing guy. I was in the restaurant with a backpacker. He started making gestures from our table to his. I first didn’t understand: *What, exchange tables??! Oh, I got it, you want us at your table? Sorry to decline your offer, and please do not think it is because you are acting like a PERV.* I ignored him. He said (read: shouted) “HELLO!!” every now and then, and as we were still ignoring him, he started hitting his foot against the floor. RIIIIGHT, that was exactly the sign we were looking for to start flirting.
—> Count all the security cameras of the city: UNCHECK! For your information, the entire city is under surveillance. There is no street corner without a camera. It prevents people from robbing each other and from drawing graffiti on the walls.
—> Admire the façades: CHECK! Even though they are not restaured, they still have pastel tones.
—> Take every paths to inner courtyards: half CHECK! Courtyards are always full of surprise. You either discover a well kept front lawn/garden or old façades.

SHOPS AND FOOD

As expected, I found:
- Many shops selling amber and linen – Lithuania is reputed for those products. I like how transparent amber captures the light, but life’s a bitch and I needed to save money, so… I passed my way.
- Flower shops: they’re important as it’s common to bring flowers whenever you visit someone.
- Market stalls: once they were close, they would become a sort of photograph exhibition.
- Halės market. I felt hungry because of the smoked meat. A fish stall attracted many, many clients because there was a table in the corner where one could help oneself with smoked herring in tomato sauce. It was so good I bought 770g of it.

As for the other local food I tried:
- black rye bread (I must have downed 2 kg of this, it has a sweet minty-like taste. It tastes even better with some bitter orange marmelade! I definitely miss it!!)
- cepelinai (zeppelin: dumplings made from potato dough filled with ground meat. A bit tasteless in my opinion)
- potato sausages (grilled casing filled mashed potato, the taste was interesting)
- potato pancakes (as you may have guessed, potato is a local specialty)
- koldūnai (ravioli)
- ŠALTIBARŠČIAI: I loved, L-O-V-E-D it!! It looks very surprising as it is bright pink. It’s eaten cold with some sautéed potatoes. I found out this soup also exists in the rest of Eastern Europe (the recipe must slightly differ though), and I surely will nag my American-Polish friend to have her make me some. (What? How dare you think I pick my friends depending on their cooking skills?!)
- Not a local specialty, but I was craving for some junk food. I got a huuuuuuge Döner – something like 30 or 40 cm long – for about 3€ with breaded chicken instead of lamb and much yoghurt sauce. It took me one hour to end it. Too yummy.

THE ODYSSEY TO THE OLD JEWISH CEMETERY

The Old Jewish Cemetery is located outside the Old Town. As my map did not show it, I befriended Google Map. According to it I just needed to head north and cross the river to find it. I went there, got avoided by a woman who thought I wanted to ask money while I just wanted to ask my way as all I could see were parking lots and appartment buildings. I finally found two men who could speak English. They advised me to go to the hotel nearby for they would surely know where the cemetery was located. Guess what, the receptionists had no idea what I was talking about. As I walked out I stole their Vilnius In Your Pocket guide and realized my friend needed a slap/update: Google Map showed me where the first Old Jewish cemetery was located but forgot to mention it was DESTROYED. The “new” “Old Jewish cemetery” was located in the northwestern part of the city. I took a bus, went uphill, breathed in fresh gasoline-laden air, crossed some fields, and FINALLY found it. It was hu-u-uge. I wandered through the graves and saw crosses… all kinds of crosses, and flowers too, but no Jewish graves. I went back after having fait chou blanc. I was later told Jews had a very small concession in this cemetery and it was separated from the rest of the graves by a wall. The “Jewish” of “Old Jewish Cemetery” is slightly deceptive.

UŽUPIS

A.k.a the Little Montmartre. It’s an alternative “Republic” located in Vilnius. My description won’t do justice to the impression one may get. Oh, and as all Republics, it has its constitution:

Everyone has the right to live by the River Vilnelė, while the River Vilnelė has the right to flow by everyone.
Everyone has the right to hot water, heating in winter and a tiled roof.
Everyone has the right to die, but it is not a duty.
Everyone has the right to make mistakes.
Everyone has the right to individuality.
Everyone has the right to love.
Everyone has the right to be not loved, but not necessarily.
Everyone has the right not to be distinguished and famous.
Everyone has the right to be idle.
Everyone has the right to love and take care of a cat.
Everyone has the right to look after a dog till one or the other dies.
A dog has the right to be a dog.
A cat is not obliged to love its master, but it must help him in difficult times.
Everyone has the right to sometimes be unaware of his duties.
Everyone has the right to be in doubt, but this is not a duty.
Everyone has the right to be happy.
Everyone has the right to be unhappy.
Everyone has the right to be silent.
Everyone has the right to have faith.
No one has the right to use violence.
Everyone has the right to realize his negligibility and magnificence.
Everyone has the right to encroach upon eternity.
Everyone has the right to understand.
Everyone has the right to understand nothing.
Everyone has the right to be of various nationalities.
Everyone has the right to celebrate or not to celebrate his birthday.
Everyone shall remember his name.
Everyone may share what he possesses.
No-one can share what he does not possess.
Everyone has the right to have brothers, sisters and parents.
Everyone is capable of independence.
Everyone is responsible for his freedom.
Everyone has the right to cry.
Everyone has the right to be misunderstood.
No-one has the right to make another person guilty.
Everyone has the right to be personal.
Everyone has the right to have no rights.
Everyone has the right to not be afraid.
Do not defeat.
Do not fight back.
Do not surrender.

I can rant on for hours, but I pity you.

Jimmy Jumps House/Hostel

It seems like there is a technical problem with HostelWorld: my booking status has been set to ‘canceled’ for a week and I therefore cannot submit any review. I’d need more to be demotivated though! So in the meantime, here’s a quick review.

Character: 100%

Security: 100% (everyone can have a locker – with a plug, brilliant!!)

Location: 100% (you can’t ask for more: it’s in the heart of the Old Town, five minutes away from a supermarket, one or three minutes away from restaurants, ten minutes away from the market, etc.)

Staff: 100% (Pete was more than helpful! He saw I was freaking out as he was explaining me how to get to the Old Jewish Cemetery. He took the time to explain me everything once again! Also he knows the town/transports very well, don’t hesitate to ask for recommendations!)

Fun: 100%

Cleanliness: 100% (Just as what the website says: CLEAN bathrooms.)

If you want to go to Vilnius: Do BOOK a room at Jimmy Jumps House!

How to do stats in an authoritarian country

“I counted. 18 Ferrero Rochers out of 30 have been eaten. Mum took none, dad, N., and I took one each. You therefore ate 15 Ferrero Rochers.”  ~My sister

Little does she know.

Bilan du mois

Summary:

- I am getting ready to look like a SM by buying a new pair of black plastic rectangular glasses. Please give me a whip to complete the look. (I prefer this option over repairing my broken glasses with band-aid.)

- Getting deeper into Scheiße after having sold my soul to Procrastinationland.

- I would fancy a rôti de connard (*), but it’s unfortunately illegal on the European market. (* For those who don’t know: rôti de canard = roasted duck meat; rôti de connard = roasted moronic human meat).

- I now try to wear outfits which make me not look like a garbage bag.

- I am finally acquiring new English vocabulary with alacrity in order to alleviate my stupidity and ameliorate my verbal skills for the GRE. I hope the time I am investing will be amortized and not be annuled by procrastination. Do I sound abstruse enough?

- I am expensive (and no, not as a prostitute). I got a bill for a routine vaccination, a visit at the ophtalmologists’, a new pair of glasses. And I need to visit another ophtalmologist’s to get lens, ETC. ETC.

- My life is always as exciting.

Les gens du métro (2e éd.)

The wagon I chose was full of Dutch high school students. I sat next to the wrong ones: those were loud, annoying, laughed in a vulgar way, so that wannabe Parisians people in the train were staring at them with a “could-you-please-keep-quiet” look. (Hence our reputation of being scornful.)

Then a (French) woman made a speech (in French): “I gotta tell you. You all think that God is bad? You are wrong, God is kind and good! If bad things happen, it’s because of humans: radioactivity, poisoned food! I’m telling you, we are all going to get cancer, and this is not because of God, for God is kind, but because of politicians, they’re killing us! Sarkozy and scientists are killing us! But you (she addressed the Dutch students), you are young. Pray and ask protection to God! He is the solution!” (*)

She ranted for like 10 minutes (this is LONG) before a Dutch kid dared raising her hand and said: “Je ne parle pas le Français.”

———

(*) God, please give us iod pills and blow the radioactive cloud away. Give us a working brain too – no offense.

Yiddish letters

 

איך הייס מאַלקע – My name is Malke (My bad, I wasn’t paying attention. “Malke” is actually spelt מלכּה.)

Cursive Yiddish letters are interesting when included into a drawing.
And check this.

Nutella, the healthiest food on earth, and other worrisome facts on food

NUTELLA

According to their great website:

What are the nutritional advantages of Nutella?
Nutritional advantages from Nutella mainly come from the hazelnuts it contains. It brings calcium, magenisum, phosphore and above all unsaturated fat, which nutritionists recommend instead of saturated fat. Nutella is thus an interesting alternative to butter + marmelade on bread whether at breakfast or as a snack.)

(Rough understandable translation)

Are they fucking retarded or do they think *we are*? A few questions above, they said they used non-hydrogenated palm oil (= SATURATED fat; also the second most used ingredient to prepare Nutella).  My paranoid scientific side has always labeled palm oil top one among the worst saturated fat. How come Nutella’s nutrition facts say only a third of lipids are saturated fat? Mystère et boule de gomme.

Phthalate and co.

I watched two documentaries (Hauptsache Haltbar from Arte and Bisphénol et Phtalates from Pièces à Conviction). Quite worrisome if you want my opinion. Of course, they are only documentaries, so they’d probably want to focus on terrible subjects to atract a wide audience, they’d make some cuts to make it sound more dramatic to serve their own thesis. GRANTED.

But beyond this, the claims need to attract some attention. If – and I think this is the case – independant international studies back up the idea that some plastic do let noxious molecules transfer into our food, how long are we going to wait until those researches have a political effect? The problem being that it’s hard to reach a consensus on a European scale – try to impose norms on 27 countries, each country having their idiosyncratic administration and tolerance – and not all laboratories have the same research methods so they don’t lead to same conclusions (according to the second documentary). Add to that lobbies (with goddamn stupid rhetorics) which generate tons of money and will always do since they have no problems finding an outlet. Companies say they make studies proving their products aren’t harmful (really? because I’d love to hire very independant labs to prove that my products are shit!).

I’m very skeptical. Scientists also defend their interests in all of this (a field of scientists would more focus on their problems) (*), and medias need such stories to freak people out. So, we all have interests.

In conclusion:
- Lobbyist have shitty rhetorics.
- It takes too much time to take into consideration a potential health public problem.

———

(*) This idea is credited to a friend styding food technology. Also, he pointed out that the more time goes by, the more we know about potential health problems and that’s why such issued are raised.

———

Edit: I forgot to add they found DEHP in Nutella. How come?! For the record: in the EU, toys or anything meant for little kids are not allowed to contain DEHP since it’s noxious when, you know, kids get hungry and want to chew them? (Source: here and the two documentaries cited above). And yes, I know, the sources aren’t flawless .

The goddamn annoying Bibliothèque Sainte Geneviève

- I have been staying in the line for a whole hour but realized too late there was another hour to go and then 20 min to wait to get my books from the stacks. I can be so stupid sometimes. I left very angry for tt was the only library which owned the books I need. (*) As a very rational person, I needed scapegoats to discharge my anger on. I’d go for students from scientific classes préparatoires doing their homeworks in the BSG. “Oh you know, I absolutely need to get my ass in there, to feel the metallic arcades above my head and a wooden chair under my ass in order to CALCULATE AND RESOLVE EQUATIONS!”.

- I once ordered two books from the stacks, got them after 20 min, then realized they picked one wrong book. I came back, explained it, the librarian nodded and told me to come back in 10 min. I thought I could give him more time and came back 20 min later. Didn’t find the librarian who dealt with me. Went to another one, explained the situation again. She looked at the shelf, found a book under my name, showed it: it was still the same wrong book. The former librarian forgot to return it and didn’t leave any instruction. So did  he forget to get the book I needed.

- There’s a policy in there: you need to “temporarily” return all your books if you want to have a break (outside). I went to the counter, gave my books back, but the librarian dealing with me was totally distracted for she kept on chitchatting. She gave me a receipt. I came back an hour later, gave the same librarian my receipt. She looked at the shelf: “I’m sorry, I don’t see your books.” “They’re over here” “Are you sure they’re yours? They are put under no one’s name”.

- To be fair, I also once “wasted” the time of a librarian. I asked her if I could “temporarily” return my books and forgot to wait to get a receipt. She reminded me the rules by yelling at me. What gave her the right to talk to me this way anyway? If I were to follow her example, I think half of the Parisian population would be deaf by now.

 

The BSG will turn me into a psycho.

———

(* Later on I found out the catalog I’m using was SLIGHTLY fucked up and that the items I needed were available in another library.)

How are you?

That is the question I have always dreaded. I guess I can toss a “I’m fine, what about you?” or a “I feel a bit tired, but oh well, I don’t look like a zombie yet, but you truely do!” or analyze the situation:

- If I say: “I’m fine, thank you, what about you?”, I’m shallow and uptight.
- I could try a “I-have-been-spending-three-days-working-on-Klaus-Mann-and-don’t-manage-to-come-up-with-a-topic-proposition-I-want-to-hang-myself-up-I-can’t-take-it-anymore-why-have-I-applied-to-that-master’s-programme-oh-my-god-what-have-I-done-and-fuck-I-talk-too-much” and enjoy people’s reaction with delight, but my chances of getting a social life will be nearing zero.
- “I ate [insert an unknown Chinese dish]” and I’ll be labeled as “insanely random”.

The truth is that I wish I could answer “I’m incredibly boring, that is how I am”.

Le Chien et le Flacon

“- Mon beau chien, mon bon chien, mon cher toutou, approchez et venez respirer un excellent parfum acheté chez le meilleur parfumeur de la ville.” Et le chien, en frétillant de la queue, ce qui est, je crois, chez ces pauvres êtres, le signe correspondant du rire et du sourire, s’approche et pose curieusement son nez humide sur le flacon débouché ; puis, reculant soudainement avec effroi, il aboie contre moi, en manière de reproche.
“- Ah ! misérable chien, si je vous avais offert un paquet d’excréments, vous l’auriez flairé avec délices et peut-être dévoré. Ainsi, vous-même, indigne compagnon de ma triste vie, vous ressemblez au public, à qui il ne faut jamais présenter des parfums délicats qui l’exaspèrent, mais des ordures soigneusement choisies.”

Baudelaire, Le Chien et le Flacon
(The Dog and the Scent Bottle. Translation here)