Well, you know, it's the one about...

For quite a long time now, I've gotten the books Persuasion and Possession mixed up. They are most definitely not the same book, but for some reason there has been a mental block on my mind stopping my capacity to tell which is which. Clearly this is dumb. So WHY did I think it would be a good idea to read them both AT THE SAME TIME? Am I trying to kill my own mental health? Actually, why did I think it would be a good idea to be reading about 6 books at the same time? But aren't I always doing that?
ps- you are all going to HATE me now, but I have to admit that I've seen both of the movies made from these books. It's not like I had an evil plan to see the movie and never read the book, it just happened that way by accident. I was even supposed to read Possession for class last year, but we ran out of time (remember that Word and Music class?), and then I saw the movie on the flight to Lyon last August. And Persuasion is Sarah's favorite Jane Austin movie- she practically forced it on me! And by forced I mean I wanted to watch it too. Hmphh.

What are you doing with 4 types of sugar?

I don't care what the Blogger time-stamp tells you, it's 2 in the morning here. But I just drank some tea, which I'm pretty sure is caffeinated, so I'm good for this post (and perhaps another). In French there's a seperate name for the caffeine in tea, it's called, quite appropriately, teaine. I might have spelled that wrong, but frankly my dictionary is in a completely different room of the apartment, and I'm attached to the computer by my headphones, so me getting up to get it could be disasterous. The fact that I am typing in a different room than my dictionary, and that I know where it is should lead you to this obvious conclusion- I have finished moving and am unpacked. This would be a correct conclusion. I have made the 10-minute jump from Jean Mace to Saxe-Gambetta (so named due to the intersection of Avenue Saxe and Cours Gambetta). Granted, I live on rue Saint Michel, but I'm a hop, skip and a jump away from Saxe-Gambetta itself, and really, I was talking about the neighborhood. The moving was not fun, but it's over, I've unpacked and organized, decorated a little, had people over for dinner and shoved all of my things in the kitchen. Julie has kitchen things, but she doesn't really cook here much. I cook a lot, and have ended up with quite a few kitchen things during this past year (immersion blender, electric mixer, mini-four, coffee maker, etc). This has led to two problems. Number one is my paralyzing fear that Julie will return from Spain, where she's interning for the summer, and FREAK OUT at the shear amount of stuff in the kitchen ("What the fuck Gina- I leave you here for TWO MONTHS and I come back and there are THREE types of flour and two loaf pans? And what do you need those cardomam pods for anyway?") Number two is that even though between the two of us we have a metric shit-ton of kitchen things, there are still things missing. Like knives. My endeavors to purchase knives have all ended in disaster, some more so than others. Yesterday at Carrefour the only difference between me and the sales-dude was that his French was better than mine. I knew more about knives than he did. I've considered just getting some in the states and bringing them back, but I don't know if customs people would buy "But they're so much cheaper at Target!" as an excuse for having knives in my suitcase.

This apartment is wonderful. I do realise that I got shit-lucky in finding it, but I looked HARD for places and was getting desesperee before this popped up. I wish Julie were around this summer, but this way she avoided seeing the massive mess that moving caused. I can't wait to take pictures of the place and the neighborhood, because it is all that I could wish for. Last night I was sitting around and I heard someone practicing the accordian out the window. It is moments like this that I know that I'm where I should be. Even more so now that I have a fan to ward off the insane heat. Thanks, SUMMER.

As of two weeks ago, I turned in my MA essay to the University of Oregon. This was the last requirement for my Masters, and the one thing I held off doing last spring to stay a student this year. Although NO ONE has said anything to me, graduation was last weekend, so to the best of my knowledge, I'm now the official holder of a Masters of Arts in French. I wish someone would tell me officially, but you know, I figure someone would've had to already say "Gina, your essay sounds like a 10-year-old wrote it." So Master I am. To cap that off nicely, this Wednesday I have my jury, or interview, for the Masters program I've applied to here in Lyon, in Metiers des arts et de la culture, basically the equivalent of Arts Management. I'm nervous beyond belief, because I want this SO badly. Tres tres badly. I put a lot into my dossier, and it was such a relief to make it on to this round, but I won't be completely happy until I'm in. Y'all know that I've wanted to go into arts management for a very long time, so this is not just being able to legally stay in Lyon, but rather me going through on something I feel very strongly about. I haven't gone as far as to light EVERY AVAILABLE candle in the cathedral here, but poor Alex has received a few panicked text messages. Let's all hope that I don't wear heels that are too high and fall flat on my face. Because that would be JUST GREAT.

Yesterday I decided that I would bring some music to the English lesson I was teaching. My student and I have very, well, let's say different, tastes in music. And I had forgotten how hard "fill-in-the-missing-word" activities can get (Oh Robert Davis, please don't kill me for forgetting the official name of those activities. I was a good student!), especially when the Beastie Boys talk too fast and Ben Folds swallows the end of his words! STOP IT Ben. What are you thinking? I mean, I do the same thing, but I don't have a recording career and no one would ever potentially use me to teach English comprehension. Besides the ten million times I listened to those two yesterday, the apartment has been grooving out to Sporto Kantes (Maria and I are both part owners of the cd, and Kelsey owns exactly one cent of it. I would have bought the entire thing myself, possibly even twice. Check it out, yo. I am impressed), Morcheeba, and yes, finally, Death Cab for Cutie. I just recently realised that I can't keep comparing them to the Postal Service, because there will never be another Give Up, and I should appreciate them as something different. Also Niki told me that I should really just try, because it wasn't that hard, and then lent me Plans. I predicted that I would spend a good part of my summer lying on the couch listening to it, and this prophecy is on its way to being true. Don't judge me because I started with their lastest album- availability people, availablity!

So many other little things- this week was the fete de la musique, tonight I watched France beat Togo in the first World Cup match of this year that I've managed to catch (no tv, went to Laurie and Vincent's), this weekend is the fete du cinema, I built Ikea furniture using a screwdriver as a hammer and managed to make decent pate brise despite the heat and the butter's desire to melt rather than be room temperature.

Now I'm going to go to bed and stare out the window at the Credit Lyonnais tower, which is strangely reassuring.

desserts that are pink are the best desserts

Last night I went to Kelsey's dance recital. Ohmygod people. There were tiny little girls who obviously didn't know their dance as they kept looking off the stage to their teacher and all doing different things and waving at their parents. And you guys know I can't resist that, especially since I used to be one of those tiny little girls. Anyway, I went (out to the suburbs, I might add) because Kelse's family couldn't be there so I was surrogate family. She was great in what they call "oriental" dance here and had the awesomest costume that she decorated herself (I know this is true, I watched it happen with my own eyes). Then I got to talk to Alex and was assured that he's ok and loves the states. Then Kelsey and I decided to stay up until 5:30am. You see, her parents and sister came in today, and she had to take a train to Paris at 6am, and was too excited to fall asleep. Hey, I said, I have laundry and cleaning to do- come over and we'll both stay up.
So what's a girl to do when she's staying up till 5:30? Laundry (in the apartment now, I'm happy to say), decorating frames from Ikea, getting glue from said decoration all over myself, watch Pieces of April, unpack some of my things, be convinced by Kelse that making a fort is a bad idea, especially when I had just put away all of those books, and, oh yes- bake!
It would be so romantic to say that I had bought strawberries and rhubarb at the market and knew exactly what they were destined for. But that would also be a lie. And lying is bad. Honestly, I read that the Amateur Gourmet (who I've met, so it's not totally wierd) made strawberry rhubarb pie, and I thought "I think I had that once! I think I may have liked it! But I'm not sure. Hell, it's PINK" When I got home with all my stuff (including the world's best goat cheese), I realised that I had not enough to make most of the recipes (thanks KELSEY aka Miss One-stalk-of-rhubarb-is-definitely-enough). Shit. But at 2 in the morning sometimes you just NEED something that's going to be pink. So crumble it was. With added crystalised ginger and a little bit of rose water. You can't taste the rose water, but I swear it's in there. It's really really good and made the apartment smell great. Plus we had the windows wide open and could hear people talking and it rained and the great rain smell came in (but that's a whole other story called why-i-love-my-new-apartment-so-much).
The important things to notice in the photo are a)I didn't even take off my pearls! b)the apron, which I LOVE and is probably the apron that most represents me plus the pearls plus the fact that I'm baking make me look like a circa-1950's housewife, c)I'm not going to put the crumble in the mini-four you see behind me I'm going to put it in a REAL OVEN THAT'S ATTACHED TO THE STOVE! d)I am cooking in the kitchen and STANDING AT MY FULL HEIGHT. No more bending over to cook suckahs! e)did I mention the oven? Cause I have one. It's right by the washing machine. f)look at that cute coffee cup and saucer on top of the not-in-use oven- Niki gave them (and several more) to me when she left because she couldn't fit them in her suitcase. I LOVE them and they randomly match the espresso cups that Alex's family gave me for easter.
This, mes amis, is happy.

Food-related photos from Mike's visit

A long time ago, (read- March) younger me, aka my little brother Mike, came to visit. The last time Mike was in France he was still a super-picky eater. (sorry Mike, but you know it's true) This time was different. The kid has developed into an incredible cook and an even better eater. You would not believe the types of things that he can crank out. I strive to be better than him, because I'm older, and that's just the way it should be. Anyway, our spring break adventures included lots of eating and drinking. Things you don't see include- the first raclette meal on my very own raclette maker. adventures with the cocotte minute, Mike drinking espresso, nights at Ninkasi (Alex got really confused while Mike and Niki and I sang the Voyage of the Mimi song) and the sugar cookie France and United States. What you do see is: Mike attempting to choose cookies in the humongous cookie aisle at Carrefour. There is an entire SECTION of butter cookies people. I'm not going to lie- we bought a shit ton of cookies and candy. Next, a spice stand at the Quai Saint Antoine market, one of my favorite markets in town. Finally, Mike in Place Bellecour with MY market basket after the trip that included the spice stand and the roasted chicken stand (it was incredible thankyouverymuch. Bird flu? We ain't afraid of no stinking bird flu). Randomly, Alex lives in the building that you see behind Mike.

As of midnight here in Lyon, it's officially Alex's birthday. When I asked if I could call him today (timing is tricky now), he said not to worry about it and we'd celebrate when he got back. Wait a second buster, we ALREADY celebrated your birthday! Remember? We went to a concert and I even made a CAKE (thanks Cooking for Mr. Latte) and got you a present! When you get back in September we're celebrating MY birthday!

All that aside, it hardly seems real that we met almost 10 months ago (for all of you who are checking my math I'm RIGHT because we didn't start dating until two and a half months later) when I had just gotten here. This is proof that you can indeed form lasting relationships with people you meet at the bank. I have been spoiled and taken care of like never before, all by someone who thinks it's just normal to do all of that. He cleaned my ENTIRE kitchen people. I have a million and two stories I want to tell you, but for time and sappiness's sake, I'll stick to one that you may have already heard but that I could tell over and over. Christmas day last year I was with some friends at Niki's eating that famous duck, but feeling that feeling you get the first Christmas you're not with your family. Alex and I had talked the day before (it's important to know that he was with his family in Bourges, which is three and a half hours away) and when I told him that I was by myself in my apartment I think he realised that I really was sorta alone. We talked multiple times on Christmas day itself, through texts until he called and told me that he had left something that he needed that week in my apartment and really needed me to go back and find it. After a little convincing, I walked back to my apartment for what I felt would be a futile search followed by a return to Niki's, but instead found him there waiting for me in the entry-way of the building. I nearly-cried, dropped everything that I was holding and hit him to make sure he was real. Lila, who had come with me, screamed. Like, really screamed, and then ran out of the building for an unknown reason. This is the guy who ditches out on his family on Christmas day to come surprise a girlfriend who's a million miles away from hers. So, mon bebe, bon anniversaire, I love you more than cake.

I did promise this to e...

Since Maria left on Wednesday, Monday night we decided to finally try Le jardin de Berthe, a mostly-salad restaurant we've been thinking about all year. What we thought would be a funky little place with good food was actually a large stylish place with really good food (and ok, we could have done away with that misconception if any of us had ever, oh, looked inside, in the year we've been walking by it). I can't figure out if people go there to be seen, or if there just happened to be a large proportion of hip people there that night. Further research to follow? Anyway, if any of you come to Lyon, I'll take you here. There are about 50 salads, as well as some other pasta dishes, so the menu takes time. Especially if you're not really reading it and talking to your friends instead. Not like I'd ever do that. Never. But truly, I was impressed with the quality of the ingredients and the portions- god knows that I eat a lot, and this salad was big even for me. In true French fashion, I had the salade Sarladaise (named for a town that I visited on the spring trip to Dordogne), which features gesiers de canard, magret de canard (two different types of duck meat), corn, rice and raisins. It sounds better in French.

This post also marks the departure of Maria, which means that it's down to me and Kelsey (and my non-american friends) here in Lyon. We'll always have quat ladies.

On this episode of “My boyfriend’s in fucking Spokane and I’m still here in Lyon!”…

A serious person who blogs would probably start this entry with something like ‘The times, they are a’changing’ (would you be embarrassed of me if I had just done that seriously? But really, I’m not serious) or, if they were perhaps a bit more indie-rock ‘And we’ll all float on.’ But what about me? Where’s my fucking niche? What am I supposed to use to introduce this to all of you without sounding too sappy, cliché, general, or just plain stupid. So I'd like you all to just hum the Mission: Impossible theme and try not to think about Tom Cruise. I know that's what I do.

I just made that way more difficult than it should have been. But really, how can you describe a time where so many things are changing on every level of life? (note- if Quel est ton probleme? were a musical, then at this point it would burst into song with some upbeat but sentimental melody about goodbyes and hellos. Aren’t you glad we’re not a musical?) I feel like June is always sort of an upheaval time of year, and this year is definitely no exception. Many of my wonderful American Lyon friends, who were students on the program that I’ve been working with all year, have been doing what study-abroad students do at the end of the year and going back to the states. They’re all terribly happy to see their family and friends there, and I’m happy for them too, but it doesn’t make me happy to keep saying goodbye. The Dordogne trip was like one long goodbye. I’m also waiting for word on acceptance to a Masters program here in Lyon (and finding back-up plans to ensure a carte de séjour renewal), finishing the year at two jobs, moving, worrying about all of the above, and yes, as the title implies, dealing with the fact that, due to some sort of cruel joke by fate or something of the like, my beautiful French boyfriend is in Spokane, Washington until mid-September and I am here, still playing the Américaine in Lyon. I have told him that he’s taking over my Pacific Northwest life. He laughed. I was sorta serious.

But franchement, since I’ve been gone for so long you probably all have a lot of questions. I am now going to answer what I believe these questions might be. But since I’m not psychic, there is no guarantee that these actually are the questions that you were thinking about. No yelling if I miss your potential question!

Q- Gina, where the HELL have you been?
A- I’ve been around, yo. Remember how I have two jobs? And I started auditing classes this term. But really, I have been around, if by around you mean around France. Since the middle of April I’ve hit four separate provinces of France- Provence, Bretagne, Berry and Dordogne (and I’ve ambled through, but not stayed in, Aquitaine and the Loire). Life here just sort of took off, and I forgot to write about it. But I’ll recap the best moments. Maybe not the part about the accidentally-upside-down lemon tarte. Because I’m still bitter about that.

Q- So, umm, are you coming back to the states?
A- If you mean to visit, then yes, I’m coming back in July for about 3 weeks. If you mean to live full-time, then no. At least not right now. As I said, I’ve applied for another Masters program here, in the basic equivalent of Arts Management. I’m waiting to find out if I’m accepted (I hear if I’ve made it to the juries, or interviews, in a few weeks, and then find out the final word in the first week of July) and frantically finding back-up plans. I need to renew my carte de séjour, the little piece of paper that lets me be legal here, and the easiest way is to still be a student. Don’t get me wrong, this program is incredible and will train me for exactly what I want to do in life. I want with my entire heart and soul to be accepted. I’m also sitting on a job for next year- basically staying at Chevreul as their assistant again. I love that school so much, and the students, so this is very happy for me. Plus, I did just sign a new lease, so I have to stay now.

Q- Where are you even living right now?
A- I feel like I’m cheating on my current apartment. Two sets of keys, furtive exits from one to the other, bags of stuff being transported… No, I’m not having an apartment affair, I’m just slowly moving from one to another. Yes, I’m leaving my little place on Avenue Berthelot to move a scant 10 minutes away, near Saxe-Gambetta. After a terrifying and stressful search during which I thought I either wouldn’t find a new place or would have to sell my own limbs to pay for it, this place sort of tumbled into my lap. I could say that a little birdie told me about it, but that would be a lie unless by little birdie I meant Alex. I admit, I did get a bit pissy (but by far not my worst) with him about his un-helping nature in the apartment search (not that I ever asked him to help…) and one day just spat out “Don’t you know ANYONE who needs a roommate or who’s leaving their apartment?” I think it knocked something in him, because then he remembered that one of his friends had a roommate who was moving out. He called her from the café where we were sitting and we went right over. And that is how I met Julie and last week signed some stuff and wrote some big checks. There’s a lot in between and before, but I think it’s worth saving, because looking for and finding an apartment in France is quite the loop-de-doo. Julie’s away for the summer in Madrid doing an internship, so I’m alone with the internet and freebox (free calls to land lines in the US!) for a while. She also put MSN messenger and a webcam on my computer, so, guys? Sign up? I’ll tell you more about the new place later, when I realize that I never even told you much about the current place, but for now know that I love it and am going to be very happy there.

Q- Seen any good movies lately?
A- What a great question! Why yes, I have. I saw Marie Antoinette and The DaVinci Code before ANY of you did, because they had earlier release dates here (for the first time in like a millennium). I also saw Mission: Impossible 3, because how could I not? There was an Almodovar retrospective at the Institut Lumière, so I went to see Talk to her (again) and Pepi, Luci, Bom et otras chicas del menton, his first long-metrage which I had wanted to see forever. Crazy crazy crazy. There were times when all Maria and I could do was look at each other and wonder if this was really happening. One of the small theatres is also doing a Sofia Coppola retrospective which consists of a grand total of 2 movies, but I gave in and went to see Lost in Translation, because how could I not?

Q- What about concerts?
A- Shit yo, that’s even better than the movie question. After a few beautiful séances at the Auditorium with the Orchestre National de Lyon, I saw two nights of kick-ass concerts at the Printemps de Bourges, a HUGE music festival. The entire town explodes and people roll in from all over the place. Those of us lucky enough to have a boyfriend who’s from Bourges and whose father gets reduced- price tickets went to the two big nights of concerts (chosen quite randomly when Alex called and made me pick on the spot, and I pulled out the only concerts I could remember from the ONE time I looked at the program). We saw, amongst others, Katherine, The Artic Monkeys, Dionysus, Ken Boothe, Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings (oh wow, old school soul/funk band that threw me into Blues Brothers mode) and Louise Attaque. It was my second time with the Louises, having seen them when I was all of 16 and studying in Saint Brieuc. The whole crowd jumped and sang along and was generally very excited. A few weeks later we went to see Skye, who’s best known as the former singer of Morcheeba. It was Alex’s birthday present, but he chose the concert without really knowing much about it. I looked it up and couldn’t believe that he had randomly picked a trip-hop concert without realizing that it was my favorite kind of music. Needless to say, it was an incredible evening. Her first solo album is beautiful (but expensive!) and that enough was alone, but then she started singing the old Morcheeba catalogue. This was something I never thought I’d see and I spent most of the night not believing that I was there. It was, well, perfect.

Q- And the eating? What about the eating?
A- Oh god, the eating. Where to even start. I’m going to start a weekly feature mostly destined for e where I’ll talk about eating or cooking. But for now let me say that over Easter weekend I had champagne, the good stuff, four times.

Q- What about this boyfriend? And why the heck is he in Spokane?
A- That, my friends, is a good question. I can’t confine my Alex to one answer, so once again I ask you to please wait so that I can give him the explanation he deserves after these 6 months. But before I go, because I’ve been waiting so long to say this, and because I never thought I’d say it- my boyfriend is a black belt in judo, niener niener niener!

Dear general French population of Lyon-
Today I shunned my belief that I must try to be all French, all the time and wore flip flops out of the house and all the way to work. That's right- flip flops! It's not like you don't wear them too, but mine were my treasured Reefs, so happy to be seeing almost-sun again. You might have seen me riding the tram and metro in these babies, happy as can be. Except for the fact that despite the sun, it was actually quite cold out. But you know, win some, lose some and all that good stuff.
Love, Gina
PS- I also fed some of your children chocolate-chip cookies for breakfast! Take that boulangerie!