Jean Monnet

I'm working on my paper.

My Eyes are Sporting Some Major Bags

God, I'm exhausted. I'm struggling to translate these trial transcripts while the prelim and my Jean Monnet paper hangs over my head like those (momentarily) suspended anvils in Warner Bros. cartoons. It feels strange to be thinking about a different dissertation topic. If I'm gong to do this political science thing I have to be honest with myself about what I could and could not do. Could I really handle all that field work? I also hate how my puzzle is infuriatingly messy before I even begin complicating it myself. There are just too many things that I cannot control. Polisci is not for control freaks...or maybe it is? Beyond that, I've been sticking to my cleansing diet. I gained three pounds in that one week in Bowling Green. Good God! I guess eating directly from the pint of frozen custard was not exactly a wise plan? I suppose two laps in my standard suburban pool does not count as exercise? A marathon it is not. My office has no windows to the outside world. I noticed that before, but it never bothered me. It now does.

Cats are Kings, Pt. 2

My sister raises an excellent point: I go to the pantry to get a snack, hoping that maybe since they knew I was coming Mom and Dad may have stocked the pantry. I was choosing between stale Ritz crackers or slim fast bars when I find Fancy Feast "Elegant Medleys: White Meat Chicken and Egg Souffle with Garden Greens." Are things getting a little out of hand, or is it just me?

Tout Doucement

I haven't written in a while because there isn't anything to report. I've been relaxing. I did finish reading Marie Antoinette: The Journey. I was in Barnes & Nobles, but the air conditioner was on so high that it felt like a meat locker. And no, I'm not exaggerating. So I headed to Bowling Green's town square, sat on a bench, and finished the final chapters. I knew how it was going to end. SPOILER ALERT! They cut off her head. I cried. Yes, I shed tears. You know how long it has been since a book made me cry? No, of course not. Well, it was a long time. We're talking at least a half a decade. Although I essentially took a class on the French Revolution, I found the book radically altered my opinion of the entire mess. I remember my French teacher in Paris last year (ironically, her name was Dauphine) saying how Marie Antoinette wasn't well-loved in France. This biography was very sympathetic to her and I wonder if people's opinions would change if they read this book. Dan is flying into Nashville tomorrow! I'm so excited! We are going to make my parents dinner and then on Saturday, my dad will be making his famous, and utterly delicious, paella. The culinary delight which has been my trip to Bowling Green continues. And on that note, I am going to bed...on a full stomach.

Where Cats are Kings

Bowling Green, Ky. Saturday morning. Yes, after 24 hours worth of travel, I thought, what the heck, and drove eight hours south-east to Bowling Green, KY. It was worth every minute that some redneck in a Ford truck tried to drive me off the road. Talk about culture shock! Gone was my gay Paris and its delicate manners. In its place was conspicuous consumption, couples on motorcycles, their arm fat flapping in the wind, and men barrelling down the highway in monster-sized red trucks. But now I am in Bowling Green, KY, where cats are kings. I was thrilled to see my parents! We went out to eat at Garcia's, where my mom and dad know everyone who works there, and then headed home, where we doted on Raffi and Frida, our cats. These cats are incredibly spoiled. It even makes me sick. Now I am going to be leisurely and read by the pool. The first things my parents said was that I was so pale. Given that Paris was rainy and cold, I didn't find this observation the least bit surprising. But now I'm going to make a come-back. No way am I going to let my red-headed (RED-HEADED!) sister be darker than me. No way.

I'm Back, Bitches

Holla! After a hellish travelling experience (boo British Air, boo), I am stateside. Above is a picture to prove it. By the way, it is 3:44 am Paris time and I am exhausted. A longer entry will follow when I am coherent.

MacDo

As someone who does not have wireless in my dorm, I find myself going to McDonald's frequently to take advantage of their free and unlimited wireless. I go to the crowded register, buy a medium coke zero (zeROH), and try to find a place to sit. You see, the McDonald's here are not only very nice and chic, but are also incredibly crowded. And in my normal haunt, by the Dernfert Roucherereau metro stop, there is nary another American in sight. This article describes exactly what I see every day. This may surprise some of you. In fact, crazily enough, I ran into Jenna and Scott on Satuday (they are two professors for whom I've done RA work consistently). This was Scott's first time in Paris, and when I suggested they go to McDonald's to use wifi, he remarked, "Well, that's one way to get the French in a McDonald's." I didn't want to say anything, but most of the McDonald's I pass are packed, and not all of them have wifi. This article confirms, however, what I have inferred: McDonald's are popular with the French (and other Europeans for that matter).