A Dabble in Stereotyping

Having been here a little over a week now, here are some very gross over-generalizations:

Public bathrooms cost fifty cents sometimes. That sucks.

The French know how to spend money. They spend on completely useless things. This isn’t necessarily bad. Art, for example, is not practical. They don’t, on the other hand, buy big cars. Although it could be argued that an SUV is dangerous and useless outside of, say, the wilderness, the idea, misguided or not, is to have a safer, better driving experience, and driving is something you have to do. The French, instead, collect crystal. They think having more than one TV in a house is ludicrous. The upper middle class here has lots of paintings and wine cellars. A nice art to luxury.

The toilet flusher in our studio apartment bathroom is strong.

The lack of screens on the windows is not great. In the morning, when we kill mosquitoes, we have our own blood on our hands.

Annalise’s professor asked us why the Americans hate France. “I watch FoxNews, I see what they say about us, and I don’t understand it. What did we ever do to them?” France is like an affectionate, naïve big brother when it comes to the US. France is older, artistically richer, and yet 75% of their shows, movies, and music is American. In a way, they can’t escape from looking up to us. They don’t understand our senseless belligerence and just stroll along with their crystal and pointy-toed shoes, singing Kanye West and watching Boston Public.

French people who act like Americans are disappointing because they fail. I don’t like French youth because they love role-playing as Americans. They sing in terrible English, oblivious to meaning, dress in our brands, try to act hard, only to be undermined by their flowery vowel sounds. Imagine if all our pop culture were in French—wouldn’t you want to learn French? We don’t get it why Annalise’s students aren’t all that enthusiastic.

I like it here because life isn’t about work. Americans live to work. The French work only so much to live. This is, without a doubt, as it should be. There’s no invisible hand to feed, little obsession with a competitive edge. If people work hard it’s because they like their jobs, not because they want more money than they know what to do with. Liking your job and working at it is common all around the world, but over-achievement for its own sake is foreign here. If you don’t like your job, they’re limits set up by the gov. on how many hours of your existence can be taken from you. One doesn’t feel guilty about having fun on a weekday. The French don’t need to earn the right to live because it’s given.

A hot dog is four euro, a salmon/spinach quiche is two. Buy local.

France’s food isn’t superior to America’s, it just has a better average. What I mean is this: In Chicago, I didn’t eat badly. However, I always had the option of eating shitty food, I just never exercised it. In France, I don’t really have that option. Well, I do, jus t not as easily. The common gastronomical denominator isn’t low. For this reason, there are less fat people.

And what’s with the coffee? I think I actually want a Starbucks. I haven’t seen a non-NesCafe-vending machine coffee-to-go yet in this country.

French people look better than Americans because they are fashionable and eat better.

I ordered a beer called Desperado. I don’t pronounce French well, but I asked for a Desperado and the bartender stared at me. He looked at me and said something I didn’t understand. I repeated “two Desperados.” In French: “Deux Desperados.” I got one Stella. How did this happen? What else could “Desperado” be but “Desperado”? I went back to get what I wanted. This isn’t really an over-generalization, but does represent how frustration in the little things is definitely part of life here. I’m glad there’s two of us. (“Two Desperados, get it, ha ha ha” –Annalise).

Although our current living situation in the downtown studio isn’t as good as our 2-bedroom apartment in Chicago, it’s not far behind. It seems luxurious to have countertops around the sink in the bathroom, a shower with consistent water pressure, a shower head that is taller than 2/3’s of (Charles’s) height, a desk, a dresser (for Charles), floors that won’t be flooded, I’m sure there are other things. One can reach the pantry, the refrigerator, the dishes, the dresser, the sink, the bed, all from our “dining room” table. 1828 Henderson, however, had more than one room, a stove, a couch, and people in the neighborhood spoke English. The grass is greener on the other side of the Atlantic.

I wonder what life will be like here for us in five months. It’s hard to imagine, it already seems like five months have gone by. Will we want to be here forever, or will we hate our lives? Stay tuned.