Watching: She's the Man
Man, I am Shakespeared out for tonight. I finished Love Labour's Lost--a very amusing tale with a very amusing Katherine character, so I approve--and now just finished Twelfth Night. She's the Man is a modern remake of that play, so pursuing academic interests, I am now going to sit down with a bag of popcorn and watch Amanda Bynes with short hair.
I blame Twelfth Night for my earlier embarrassment today. Hanging out in my hipster place of choice, Café Roussillon, I scooted off to go to the bathroom (because drinking four cups of tea in an effort to remain at the table as long as possible can do things to your bladder). Went in, "powdered my nose," thought, This is weird. Ah, well, at least it's not a squatter. (One of the many reasons I'm glad that I don't live in China.) Anyway, I go out to wash my hands, only to find a man waiting outside, doubled over in laughter. I kind of wanted to do that whole Travis Bickle thing with the "You talkin' to me?" but then I glanced behind me. What I thought was a gender neutral bathroom was actually the men's bathroom.
Oooohhhhhhh.
I blame you, Shakespeare! Reading Twelfth Night put me in the gender-reversal mindset, I'm guessing. More likely, I'm probably just getting blinder by the day.
So anyway... France. I do like sitting in a café without feeling the heat of the server's glare. I have since perfected my knowledge on tipping in France, but I do round out my total to an even amount, i.e., no change. Those one euro coins are tiny! But I'm getting sidetracked.
Also, people here are much more in tune with my emotions. Whenever I express some confusion or disbelief, my British Modernism professor is like, "You look like you have something to say." I think people at home are too scared to say anything, which made me wonder briefly if I was the only one experiencing those emotions. Because Chinese literature, Dante's Inferno, and creative writing classes... Those get really strange. How can you not express surprise?
What really perplexed me today was this painting by Virginia Woolf's sister. It's called "Studland Beach." I do not see the beach. I hate when this happens, when the whole class is looking at a piece of art and saying, "It's very peaceful and moving, and the people are very connected." I guess I feel like Morales: nothing. I don't hate it, and I don't love it. I just don't know what to think.
Hopefully, this blank opinion on art will go away, as I will be spending my second class of Art History visiting the Louvre! The teacher has yet to send an email. I think she said we should go to the group entrance? Oh, I should probably look that up. I got to pick up my Art Student ID. It's not very fancy, but it will apparently get me into more museums. I feel like I'm masquerading as an art student, but I like free museums, so bring it on!
Je souhaite qu'il neige. :(
...That reminds me. (I know, you thought you got rid of me, right?) Apparently the only thing I really appear to know is French grammar, and I don't even know that much. It's unfortunate because it gives professors the impression that I can speak French really well, but ten minutes in our early class and you'd know that isn't the case. It would actually be much better not to be a Grammar Nazi and be able to speak without pausing for painfully long stretches of time, as no one in real life cares whether you should use the imparfait/subjunctive/conditional. I would make a far better impression as a mute with a whiteboard.
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