Rambling, Where to Begin?

What a wonderful day! I just had a very successful interview with the councilor of the 19th Arrondissement who created a movement for equality within the Socialist Party. I also got to see a more normal side of Paris. Everyone was incredibly kind and I think I got some really good stuff in this interview. My subject definitely delivered less of the party line and was candid about how things really work. ALSO...I decided to explore the Oberkampf area, which is supposedly very hot right now. I stopped by a North African patisserie mentioned here in the NY Times and had two delicious pastries. If there is one thing I hate doing while on vacation it is seeing all the tourist sites and being engulfed in a sea of tacky knick-knacks, petulant children, and a feeling of disappointment. Another problem is the expectation of some sort of feeling.* In one scene in Lost in Translation, Scarlett Johanson's character is on the phone with her mother and she is commenting on how she went to a Japanese temple but she didn't feel anything. I know exactly what she is talking about. I often visit these sites but I feel nothing. Nothing at all. On the other hand, when I go into neighborhoods that are alive and not open-air museums, I feel the energy of the city and tempo of its citizens' lives. Today was one of those days. *Not all tourist sites merit these criticisms, but I generally do feel this way.

Comme des professionels

Ah, I did it. I did my first interview with a French party member ::golf claps:: It went off without a hitch. Got you! In typical Jen-style, the interview did not come off smoothly. First, we met at different places. I was at Gare de Lyon and he was at Porte Vanves. I didn't quite understand the word though since his stop is not well-known. Here is a morcel of our conversation: Me: I'm at Gare de Lyon. Him: Oh! Zoot! I'm at Porte de qskdfjmqskdjfmklqsd (unintelligble French name, complete with a lot of nasal sounsd). Could you meet me here as soon as possible? Me: Sure. So you are at Porte d'Orleans? Him: No, Porte d'adfjsldkjfl. Me: I'm sorry, I didn't understand you. Him: It's not Porte d'Orleans, although it is near it. It's Porte de rehaoero. Me: Porte de Rhone? Him: No, it is on line 13. Me: Okay... (looking desperately at my metro map...nothing that looks at all like azlkejr) Him: Porte de qlskfj... v-a-n-v-e-s. Me, silently panicking: Got it! Unfortunately, the two are impossibly far apart in terms of metro lines. I devised what appeared to be the most direct route to get there (and here "direct" translates to "circuitous"). Seriously, I've been riding the Paris metro in preparation for this. To my utter dimay, my connecting station was closed! Oh, the horror. I dashed outside and hailed a cab. For what it's worth, the interview itself went very well. I was just horrified by my tardiness and my inability to understand French prononciation. I must have looked like such a light weight! In other news, I went chez Odette this weekend in Amboise. As always, it was wonderful! Odette now has a flat-screen tv, wireles, and is my friend on Skype. I swear, she must be the most technologically advanced 70-something in the world! And with that, I have to get back to work. À bientôt!

You've Got to Love Them

This week in Le Point, France's version of Newsweek, there was a catty little piece on Victoria Beckham. Just read this and tell me how I cannot love the French:

Halting

So I took a big step and I called the Socialist Party member in charge of "equality of chances." My French is horrible and it was embarassing. If it was in English, it would go a little like this: "Hello, here Jennifer Miller who is student doctoral." Pretty bad, eh? Non! It was not as bad as my call to SOS Racisme, when I had the guy at reception spelling out an email 5 times (and I still don't think I have it written down correctly). I deserve it for being so smug.

Greece

It's Sunday and I am feeling wonderful. This is my vacation for the year and I am spending it in Greece. I love being here! After being in a unseasonably cold London, I am actually enjoying the 90 degree weather. What makes the heat enjoyable is the lack of humidity. I arrived in Athens on Thursday evening. I was thrilled to see Dan again! We took the extremely nice metro to our hotel, which is right in front of the parliament. He was going to surprise me with a nice dinner to celebrate our one year anniversary. I was expecting a little restaurant in a crowded square. Yet to reach our restaurant, we had to board a cable car, which takes you up the side of the mountain. At the very top was this very elegant, swank even, restaurant, Orizontes, that overlooked all of Athens. What was even better is that you had a perfect view of the Acropolis. The food was delicious and the view was spectacular! The company wasn't too bad either. The next day we went to the final panel of Dan's conference, which boasted the chief justice of the European Court of Justice, and the chief justices of the supreme courts of Colombia, South Africa, and South Korea. Parellels to supreme court justices from Germany and the UK also presented. Honestly, I was bored. Dan was in his element though and we enjoyed coffee with various legal big-wigs in the courtyard of the Zapeion, the location of the conference. I now know what proper networking looks like. When I'm at a conference, I do my thing and then I head to the bar or a coffee shop. To network you ask? No, to caffeinate or to "relax." Anyway... The rest of the afternoon was spent at the Acropolis and eating Greek pastries. Saturday we took a three island cruise. I was initially unsure of the trip given that the minute we stepped onto the ship, two people dressed up in traditional Greek garb grabbed us and we had our photo taken. Think Disneyworld. Oh dear. Next, there were the Japanese travellers who were singing kareoke in the main lounge at 9 in the morning. They were on our bus to the ship and were very sedate the entire time. For this reason, I was even more shocked by the singing and dancing. Luckily, the rest of the trip wasn't so campy. We saw three islands: Poros, Hydra, and Aegina. I felt like a jet-setter (well, except when I rode a donkey at Hydra). Really though, the trip was lovely. Dan and I want to return to Greece to see Santorini. Today is our last full day here. I want a real gyro and that is my goal. As I say, aim high, aim high.

Bright Young Things

Bored, bored bored. It's my last day in London and I'm reading over trial transcripts. I wish I had something exciting and wonderful to add, but alas, I do not. I spoke to a total of three people today. Scratch that, four. All of them stood behind a cash register. I think I scared the poor lady at Marks and Spencers with my idle chatter.

Free to Be You, Free to Be Me

I have just finished my final interview in Britain and I'm feeling odd. The interview went extremely well; I couldn't have paid the man to give me better answers. As I sat across from him, drinking my coffee and listening to his responses, I felt very passionate about my work, which is a far cry from my attitude of late. Anway...so then why am I feeling odd? I don't have a bloody clue. I suppose it is because I'm leaving on Thursday to go to Greece. Dan is there for a conference and he invited me to visit him. I am very much looking forward to it. If the place looks anything like those calendars at Barnes and Nobles, then I'm going to be blown away. Sunday I went to Brick Lane. I met up with a hung-over Saladin and we proceded to eat our way through East London. Brick Lane is how I imagined the city to be. No posh white buildings with blue doors here. The place was alive, teeming with people and goods. I was in the Land of the Hipster. Ironically, I was also passing mosques left and right and the signs were in English and Urdu. Of everything I ate (and trust me, I ate a lot) it was the Bengali sweets that made the biggest impression. They were incredible! One was saffron flavored and very doughy; the other was made of fried dry milk. To balance this sweetness, I saw many "Trustfundarians."* They had to be because the prices on a lot of the goods were ridiculously high. Nevertheless, the market was such a sharp departure from the one on Portabello road. No longer were people haggling over vintage Chanel bags (::clears throat::); rather, it was whimsical dresses and fair trade leather messanger bags that were the objects of barter. I don't fit exactly in either world. I feel like I'm pretending in both. One good thing about this is that I manage to be inconspicuous in a lot of situations. I simply act like everyone around me. The drawback is that I STILL don't know who I am (and I'm 25!). Monday was spent in the Conservative Archives at Oxford, where I rummaged through old public opinion reports. One boasted of a regression analysis! Impressive if you think about it; it was 1965! Furthermore, the party research department cited Stokes. For all you political scientists out there, someone at some party HQ may be reading your stuff. As in right now. Yes, right now! Now I am off. I have to make it home in time to do RA work and watch Big Brother. Finally the claws have come out and there is no way I'm going to miss the action. *Saladin introduced me to this word. I love it because I once shared a house with a privileged bohemian (is there any other kind?!), though I don't think he listened to reggae (THANK GOD). In turn, I introduced Saladin to "douchebag." We went on a douchebag hunt at an outdoor festival. Here they are commonly known as "fops."

No Pain, No Gain

What a past two days! I have dubbed Wednesday my ultra-British day and Thursday was completely jam-packed. Before I begin, I have to report on a piece of disconcerting news: According to a recent study of distraction performed on 1,100 office workers in the UK, people who frequently juggle email or SMS with work suffer a 10-point IQ drop -- the equivalent of missing a whole night's sleep -- and more than 2X the IQ drop caused by marijuana. Oh crap. I am a compulsive email checker. I'm of the school who will refresh my page after just refreshing it because in that split-second someone could have hit send and an unread email may be waiting in my box. I feel completely lost when I don't check it. According to this study, I am making myself stupider. I might as well buy a lava-lamp, put on Dark Side of the Moon and become a stoner. So back to my life. Wednesday I was haunted by the knowledge that I had an interview the next day with the leader of the Respect party as well as with Ann Phillips at LSE. I worked furiously to catch up and I quit working at 7 pm to meet Dan to watch England's qualifying game against Estonia. We normally go to this Italian deli, but unfortunately for us, Italy was playing. We found a nearby pub that was appropriately working class. We had a blast! I ate fish and chips; Dan had a lamb burger. We sat enthralled as England delivered a beating to Estonia (for this game I dropped my normal rule of thumb: root for the country with the lower GDP unless Brazil or France is playing). The pub was completely full and there was a feeling of camaraderie. Afterwards, Dan and I caught Big Brother on Channel 4. We were curious given the fervor surrounding each episode. I was quickly hooked, but that is no surprise as I am scarily modal in my television preferences. I was afraid, however, that Dan was terribly bored. No! When I asked him if he wanted me to change the channel, he said, "No! I want to see what happens with Emily and Ziggy." He is a keeper. Yesterday was the interview. I was so nervous about it that I awoke at 5:15 am. I managed to make myself fall back asleep and got up at 7. I picked up my dry-cleaning, re-read my questions, and printed out directions to the office. Dan stopped by with my tape-recorder and we headed to the office. The office was in East London and after taking the tube we were to catch a bus. East London is not the best part of London, but I was surprised by how NOT poor it looked. Of course, this is from someone who flies out of Detroit. We ended up walking to the office, which is right by Brick Lane. The interview was all right, but I am painfully aware that my original hypothesis, developed from the American case, may not apply here. Now an important disclaimer is that I was wearing my brand new Ferragamo flats. They were very cute but were already beginning to pinch my feet. Dan and I then walked back to the station. We got in a quarrel over where to get lunch and I was alone for the meal. I then prepared for the interview with Ann Phillips. By this time, my left foot was killing me. I was limping back to my office and once inside the building I took off my shoe. Oh sweet relief! When it was time to head to LSE, I could not get my foot back in the shoe! I somehow managed to get there, but my foot was bleeding and I could barely walk. The meeting went well, but I talked too much. Typical. She did give me good contacts and was very lovely. Dan and I made up, bought a Glamour magazine with a free pair of flip-flops to calm my ailing feet. We then bought proper shoes at the nearest store, visited the British museum, and had wine and olives at the museum until 8:30. Lovely. We then ate at a famous South Indian restaurant. Toby Maguire has even eaten there! It definitely lived up to the hype. We then made it home in time to catch, wait for it, Big Brother! Ah, perfect. What a crazy and hectic day. Today will be much more low-key.

Taking Control of the Means of Production

Dateline, London. I'm in my office, sipping down the last drops of my tepid Starbucks coffee and getting ready to head to the gym. My office is deserted. In fact, no one is really here until noon and most leave by 7:00 pm. The office isn't open on weekends either. According to Dan, these kind of hours spell disaster for productivity. He went through the math one night in the tube and triumphantly told me how many hours England lost in a year. "Don't even get me started on France," he added. I thought of my work schedule, which includes all seven days and is stretched from morning to night, and then I thought of the time I was actually working, and I bit my tongue. Might as well let him think that I'm grinding away all the time instead of incessantly checking perezhilton.com. I have nailed down an interview for Thursday. It's with an ex-Trotskiest (sp?) who is also one of three paid members of the party. Wonderful. This will be a good experience, but I'm always amazed by people who still cling to Marxist ideals. I feel woefully conservative. I have not had one celebrity sighting yet, which is sad. The holy grail is Gwyneth with Moses and/or Apple in tow (I'm not picky, really). Next would be Kate Middleton. I read that Sienna and Kyra were boozing it up all weekend, but I haven't seen them either. Truth be told, unless any of them are walking around University College, I won't be seeing any celebrities.