Certified Neck Romancer

Bless you, the French

I never told you this, but my first month in France was pretty miserable. It's true the internet, even with the sudden influx of completely chocolately cereals,  I cried virtually every day.
Now however, I feel comfortable moving freely around the metro system and am ok with making huge mistakes when I speak.  When someone has a lark at my expense I don't think of it as, "the French" because honestly, assholes be everywhere, and sometimes mistakes are fuckin hilarious.
Readers who've been with me for a few months will remember that I have long awaited proof that I should be allowed to stay in France by right of some legal means. (The Deets) It's been slow going, but my proverbial ship has just come in, because although my three month tourist visa will be up in two days (!!!) Sebastien and I are now in possession of our own Livret de Famille.  Honestly, it's barely step one, but now my children can be registered dual citizens and no one can make me GTFO.
So, although I cry less, it's still quite difficult to make my full intentions known in French. As a weakness this withers  me, for I am typically want to use my oneness with words to win or whatever. Ah well, no one ever died from crying...haven't seen the same figures for whining.
Atanyrate, I am attempting to find a cool comic book that can help me read. They're called Bande Dessiné or B.D. and the  visual aid helps me become less overwhelmed so quickly, also Sebastien sits with me as I painstakingly "read" one panel at a time. It puts me in mind of hanging out with my dad, uh, and being 5.
Speaking of Dads, my little brother just found his on Facebook.  The wonders of modern technology never cease to make my world more complicated.  He was a great stepdad though, and I was happy to see him doing well. Bringing it back to BD, in French it sounds like Bay Day, and moreover, I'm likewise on the market for a French cookbook.
Now, I don't want to call the whole  of Europe retarded, but they don't measure food stuffs by volume. More generally.... a base ten system, really? The only cool thing about kilometers is getting to refer to them as "clicks", and that really only happens in movies where people are sweating under pounds and pounds of gear. Punch yourself, the metric system, and feel every inch of that fist on your face!
I jest. Obviously a base ten system does have it's value. And so I shall take a step back from the matter and return to cook books. (But I firmly do so in yards.)
Any way you slice it, I need to use ingredients that are here, unlike my fine foreign friend peanut butter,  and also require no conversions to temperature or into weight. So I'm shopping for an awesome cook book with lots of picture and yummy thing that even Sebastien will eat.  Truly, I'm not saying he's a crybaby picky-eater who's default grimace alights when mushrooms, fish, fish products, cooked carrots, turkey, or lamb is on the projected menu, but I promise you I definitely would if he did't read this blog.

Curse you, the French

I've just finished reading (one of) my favorit book(s) again: Ender's Game.  It's the first in a series of apparently pro-Mormon texts. Mostly though, it's about a brilliant, young, and reluctant warrior. Oh, and a lot of it takes place in a null-g battle school!!!!!!!!11111!1one. I always related to the protagonist (whom lends his name to the title) because of his ability to puzzle out the way other people see things and use that information to better serve or lead them. I also went away to boarding school at a young age, and amongst the hazing and strange feelings of our other lives at home, I likewise had to fight my way up the ranks, albeit for a significantly different purpose. Thankfully, I've never been responsible for the fate of the world. Such a relief, that.
In case you are wondering, my classes are going smoothly. I have now four regular students. One of which is a tour guide.  It's pretty cool because she gave me and Séba a free tour of the Opéra house that Napoleon III commissioned. I didn't take any photos but the main entryway has 30 types of marble from all over the globe. It was astonishing to behold.
I forgot to tell you that I have sort of a band flirtation going on. Some friends of ma coloc Clément want to form up a band with me as their singer. I've played already with both the guitarists and may have even found us a keyboard player. She's Japanese, but speaking with a perfect american accent and currently attends a conservatory here in Paris. Her training is most interesting. Get this, she listens to orchestrations and transcribes them onto sheet music. Talk about complex, and she can improvise! Anyway, music is something I dearly love. I would be happy to make some just for fun. But I would be most happy to get another shot at being on the road with it. I'll keep you updated.

As for you my readers and friends...am I posting enough? Would you prefer to read an update just once a week, or more often? If you have a blog how often do you think is too often, generally? I'm curious because I sometimes stave off the urge to write in the fear of over-saturating you. Just let me know, I'm quite interested. Also, this is my new favorite song:

Please exit through the gift shop and do come again.