Abercrombie and FILCH

Rectangle-shaped Ricola packages of many colors were strewn across the table, already topped with crumpled up, stale tissues. At least it was really almost the end of May, and I had a 4-day weekend. I decided to stay home on Friday because of a cold, and then we have Monday off. But as it turned out, the next 3 days were incredibly boring, redundant and lonely. I did, however, get rather obsessed with Wizard Rock, and just Harry Potter in general. I finally subscribed to PotterCast, and according to a facebook quiz, I am a Gryffindor. Ha ha- I love how the computer spelling system thinks that's a word. There's tons of wrock out there, and it's actually all rather great.

Until I stumbled upon this.

Well, I still like wrock of course, but that just... slightly infuriated me. But then again, it really shouldn't be that surprising. I won't go into any more of it probably, because that would take hours and is rather pointless, but just yeah.

I'd really want to go to LeakyCon. If you don't know what that is, it's basically a Harry Potter conference. Harry Potter-enthusiasts + nerdfighters + wizard rock + real live Youtubers and such. Plus like a dance and all that. The next one is in 2011 in Florida I think.

I really like The Remus Lupins, the Butterbeer Experience, the Parselmouths and the Mudbloods. There are lots more awesome, of course. The best wrock song is probably something like "Save Ginny Weasley" by Harry and the Potters, the first wrock band. I mean, some of them are actually rather talented musicians. Although I do admit that maybe limiting yourself to just writing about books is sort of.... limiting. But then again.

When I come back, I just have this dream of like having a whole bunch of wrock and nerdfighter albums. I have a looonnnnngggg CD wishlist, which I guess some would say is rather unrealistic. At least I'm not obsessed with something like....buckets.

So anyway. It would appear that this Year in France thing is really actually going to end. On Monday, there will be exactly one month left. And there's like 49 days left till the 7th Harry Potter movie. Or something.

For some reason, sometimes I just think I should forget other stuff and just focus on a few things, a few hobbies, and just sort of soak up all of that thing, just fall into a huge vat of it, and never really have to think about anything else. Just listen to wrock all the time, read Harry Potter, and other books of course, and just... yeah. Contacting our inner geek.

This is actually Sunday. 31!

There's Just Something About Cut-Up Apples

Anita, my mom's friend from London, is visiting now, which I probably mentioned before. We went to the market on Saturday and saw a quartet (clarinet/soprano sax, banjo, interesting finger drums, bass) playing near the Voltaire statue. They were pretty good; had a jazzy sound. The drummer had these metal caps on his fingers like when you sew, and then rubbed them on this washboard-type thing, and had some cymbals. It was pretty effective. On the way back we noticed a bar/cafe which had music playing earlier, and asked when they had shows. One was that evening, but we missed it after a hike.

We went to the same place as where we went when my aunt Heidi and her friend were here, but also first stopped by this big waterfall. It was massive and very wet. We also got some considerable warmth. I got up pretty close and got my lens quite wet.

I tried my first diabolo menthe drink, which I had always learned about in French class but never dared a sip. I first used the word "toothpaste" to describe the very neon-ish green flavor, but Anita offered a better word; mouthwash. It was minty, alright. But not like kill-your-mouth mint.

On the way back from the hike we talked about the different English/American cultures, accents and Harry Potter. I noticed that the English would say, "to go to university" without adding the article, whereas we would use that same formation for "college". It was vice-versa. I mentioned that I thought American accents were really annoying, and Anita said, with her signature laughs after, "Agreed," Harry Potter is also a big thing over there, too, which I guess isn't even a slight surprise at all.

Today we went to the beach in Annecy, a nearby French town that is superbly beautiful. It was just so hot today. Several many other people had the same idea, so it made for a very early summer scene. We rented a paddle-boat and swam around.

So, a pretty good weekend I'd say. I have my math finals soon though later in the week... have to write an English essay on Twelfth Night, a trumpet exam on Wednesday (I play my audition music, so good practice for the real audition) but you know, life goes on. And The Shins are awesome. I should probably really do something interesting for the rest of these 38 days, or this blog is gonna get... even more redundant. Which in itself is redundant.

Angels and Demons is out, at least in the US. It's made quite a fuss over at CERN, which is to be understandable. I should see it. That and Rent. Things things things to do to do. The future, sure.

Blind to the last cursed affair pistols and countless eyes
A trail of white blood betrays the reckless route your craft is running
Feed till the sun turns into wood dousing an ancient torch
Loiter the whole day through and lose yourself in lines dissecting love.

(The Past and the Pending by the Shins)

Buttered Hope

"Just think about... strawberries. It's plastic!" I grinned over at Valen-Claire, my "lab partner", as she leaned over the white basin with a sickened expression on her face, prodding the soft legs with the shiny silver tweezers and knife.

"Ewww!!!!" she shrieks, and I glance at the poor frog. "It smells so bad!" She backs away, putting her hand over her mouth and laughing, and we both wrinkle our noses. 

"I know!" I said back, knowing I recognized the smell from somewhere, but wasn't sure exactly where. Towards the end of the dissection, I suddenly remembered that it was the same smell as my elementary school hot lunches. Gross.

I thought I wouldn't be able to handle dissecting the lower body of a French frog in SVT class today, but it went okay. In fourth grade, we had to dissect a lamb's eye, and I had to leave about half-way through to go into the hall with a queasy feeling. I just hated the smell, the look of that skin, the veins... Another student also had come out, and we kinda talked. My dad actually cut himself while being one of the volunteering dissectors, but he was okay. It was just a small cut on one of this fingers. He laughed.

If you hadn't found it out already, we're now studying the nervous system in that class. This slightly annoys me, because I kind of like already did it just last year. Which isn't to say I'm an expert at all of this, but still... good review I guess.

This has actually been a rather exciting week. On Tuesday, I had to sing by myself in musique class. Everyone had to do it, but I was just one of the last people. But actually, I hadn't even been all that freaked out by it. I figured the teacher didn't really expect much of me (me being in FLE class, etc) and I could at least try, right? And I mean, at least when singing with the whole class, I didn't think I was like... soooooooooooooooo terrible. I was only soooo terrible. 

But alas. It was harder than I thought. At first I was going to come up with my book, but then the teacher (Monsieur Pils) said I could do without it. I couldn't hit the notes really, my accent was probably horrid, and I didn't really have enough air. He kept telling me (and everyone else, really) to open their mouths like you're yawning. Lemme tell ya, I know that's the right way to sing and all, but French words that I'm not that good at pronouncing with an open mouth? As opposed to like, a slightly open one? Sort of unpleasant. I mean, one of the lines was "Je voudrais seulment dormir" (I would like only to sleep/I only want to sleep/etc) and that last "dormir" is pronounced like "dor-meer" so imagine having to do that sneery "-eer" with an open mouth. 

The teacher said it was okay, gave me a sympathetic look, and after giving me the "keep your mouth open because the sound is better, etc" lecture, proceeded to tell the class about my predicament. 

"No mais, imaginez- tu arrives dans un nouvel pays et puis dois chanter devant vingt-sept gens avec une nouvelle langue..." (Rough memory of what he said: "No but, imagine- you arrive in a new country and then have to sing in front of 27 people with a new language...") Claire, being her extremely nice self, immediately said "That was good!" in her special, sympathetic, caring tone right when I ran back to my chair, after I said "Well that was terrible", not looking at anyone. 

But after Faouzi, the other new FLE student went, and who actually sang quite well, we got to listen to some jazz, which I liked. I liked how Monsieur Pils (and basically the whole French language) uses the English terms like "big band" (which they pronounced like "Beeg bannd") and "le swing". That just makes my day.

But no, the excitement did not end there for my Tuesday. Directly after that, I had Spanish. Or at least, I was supposed to have it, but after we all were waiting for around 5 minutes, the idea started to circle around the French/English-speaking group of kids that we could all go to etude. 'Cause see, in this system, if the teacher doesn't get to the room by around 10 minutes, you can theoretically go to etude (free period). So half of us were all groaning for the other half more responsible people to come to etude, saying "Ugh you guys let's just go! She's not here! We can go!" and whatnot, with the other half going, "No I'm staying here. She might come and then we'll all have detention." Eventually we did get everyone there, but only about 9 minutes had passed. 

Then there was much confusion and uncertainty about whether or not the teacher was indeed there. I kept saying, "We're so dead," but with a laugh.

A few kids were stationed back near the room, glancing out the window to warn us if our teacher, Madame Martin, was coming. The rest of us had worried looks on our faces, asking constantly, "Is she there?! Is she here?!" to which we would all answer, "No." We consulted with one of the etude teachers, and brought up the fact that it had been at least 10 minutes and she wasn't here. It went back and forth, and then Faouzi came over and said in his joking but still legit voice, "She's here," after Jess again repeated her panicked phrase, "Is she here? Is she here?" Then we all groaned, and Faouzi immediately broke into his sneaky grin and laughed. "No, no... I was just kidding," 

In the end, we had a free period. And it was probably one of the best free periods ever. I sat around one of the tables with Claire, Jess, Sarah, Faouzi, Olivia and a few others. We were just sort of middle schoolers; that's all that happened. But I kept laughing weird and everyone got mad at everyone and started yelling and throwing around words and laughing. People stole people's backpacks and chased each other around the table and we even tried to explain what we were talking about to Betsida, the Portuguese new girl who knew some French, no English, and was naturally good at Spanish.

So yeah. 

We saw Madame Martin walking towards the building about 10 minutes till the next lesson. Strange.

And then, we have Thursday off, my dad bought the plane tickets home (we're leaving on July 1st), the Red Wings are up 2-0 against the Blackhawks, and I have some trumpet examen next Wednesday, as well as a bunch of math tests. But, instead of 44 days left, there's only 42!

Snails Attack!

Almost a week ago already, my aunt and her friend came over to visit us for a few days. It was really fricking awesome and we jammed and talked and hiked. They're musicians and were playing shows in Berlin. We went on this one really awesome hike to the end of the world; that's what it was called. Mountains framing on each side, massive waterfalls plunging to their death in throttling veins every few half mile or so. We went through a mostly flat trail, but had to cross several many rushing, icing (because that's a verb) and trecherous rivers. No exaggeration, man. And the season was rather early, so the bridges weren't up. After our lovely lunch of bread, cheese and whatnot in a grass and dandylion field with aged cowpies mixed down under, ominous clouds creeped up and about half an hour into the hike, it started to rain. It was mountainous rain, but we were seasoned hikers. We told stories, jokes, and I stopped many times to take pictures. Then as I turned my head to glance at the now gray mountainside with the waterfalls, I noticed an amazing effect of nature- the wind would blow the water falling from the waterfall across, so it was like a slight, thin cloud or another dimension scraping across the rock.

We got right next to a waterfall at one point, but first had to cross a particulary hard river. At first we went up the river a bit, thinking the rocks looked more promising there. They weren't. With leaping jumps, Steve had crossed way before us and was already snapping pictures. My dad got over a certain part and tried to help me. I held his hand, trying to catapult all of my gravity (well, myself) to that certain rock, and hang on. It happened so slowly, of course. And there were splashes, of course. Almost sickeningly slow, with me jumping, putting my...self into Fate's hands (or maybe it was their feet, really- you'd think Fate would get their hands pretty full a lot of times) and then my feet going down... down... descending... not making it. Ker-plunk. Splash. The sound of a failure. Whatever you wanna call it. My feet nerves suddenly so aware of the icy sock clinging against my skin, and wet stuff plunging deep into my "water resistant" new shoes. An annoyed "agh" immediately escaped my mouth, and then laughter. While all this is happening, the things that make people react, made me react. As in, my feet suddenly kicking up a storm down in that dog-gone French stream. Get up! Out! No! Wet! Dry! Move! was basically my brain's message. But of course, the whole thing lasted as long as a snap of the finger, and it's the kind of thing where you just act. The ending of the story was that I got up eventually, but actually didn't really get anywhere. My dad let out a puff of annoyance, and then we seemed to laugh. Oh yes, I was smiling. Jeans wet, but just a few centimeters up.

So I guess that place didn't work.

We went back to the main crossing place, where I noticed a bridge folded up. At first I just saw the wire railings and thought "Gee, what a bridge failure", but this of course was not the story. There were hikers, the kind that hit the gym at 5:30 every morning and that you find at nature parks, carrying those backpacks and wearing sunglasses occassionally and maybe even spandex in part. The river wasn't so deep, and maybe about.... 10 feet across. Probably less. The rest of the group (i.e. my dad and my aunt's friend) had gotten across, and now we were left to find the least wet route. There were rocks here and there, but none seemed plausible. Unless of course, we were to magically increase our leg span and/or have courage/bravery/etc. One of the 5:30-am-nature-park people (who was French, I'd assume) pointed me to a spot that seemed rational to cross, and we all sqinted our eyes, considering it, while I scrunched my mouth in that way when you know you have to do something you don't really want to, normally something physical. I had to step on a largish rock next to the riverside, then there was a apparently secure log maybe two feet away. It was mostly perpendicular to me, which was helpful. Then there was another rock near that, and then you get to the middle area and can just go across.


Steve was there, my dad behind him, beckoning me to "stop being a sissy". Oh no, they didn't ever mention the concept or word in any shape or form, but sometimes we criticize ourselves, you see. After procrastinating the daring steps, frozen with fear (okay, not literally) at the icy water just... a few feet down. I cleared my throat, made excuses to my dad's encouragement until the French lady came back and handed me two walking sticks, the kind not made of wood. She demonstrated how to get across, using some basic French, gave me an encouraging smile and I turned to the new scene.

Well. I would swing a bit, debating mentally whether to just bite the bullet and to the fricking thing, and then my brain got the better of me. Or actually, maybe it was the body. Either way, it took a while before I just took the leap. ...And didn't die. Amazing, I know. And actually, I wasn't all that frazed from the concept of falling in, because unless your whole body slips, it seriously wasn't that bad.

We all got over eventually, of course, and then proceeded to overcome several more obstacles of the same nature.

On the way back of that particular river, we decided to just go with the railing. There were four wires, perhaps almost 5 feet from each other. I decided to slide across the wrong way, because I felt the most comfortable with my two feet on the left wire, my left arm on the left wire, and my right arm on the right wire. It was slippery, slightly amazing, and scary-ish. It wasn't such a big drop, and I wouldn't die anyway. The water rumbled a few feet below, and my eyes switched from looking down, looking across to my dad who was nicely holding the ropes together a bit and looking straight. Biting my lip. Trying to breathe. Making irked noises. It was really like those rope course things in real life.


It started climbing after the rain stopped, and then the sun came out. It was looking more and more like a desktop background as we glanced back. Green mountains pretty much on all sides, white waterfalls carving lines, and then snails. They don't lie when they mention the whole France-snails thing. I mean, I haven't eaten any yet, but there were TONS up there. One there, then one over there, on the right.. on the left... up ahead, on that leaf, on the trail.... it was interesting to see their mucusy head ooze back into their... shell as I pointed my camera lens right at the sneezer.


The hike was described at certain parts as "very difficult" and I had to give it to these guys- sometimes hiking maps are acurate. We couldn't see where the heck the trail went after the top, and then noticed a slight trail-resembling thing curving up to the left. It was right on the edge, and as we hiked up it to check it out, you had to cross a waterfall to get to the next part of the trail. Frankly, it was pretty suicidal. The edge of the waterfall was right there, and even though the water flowing down where you would cross wasn't even deep, I wouldn't do that ever. Like, ever. So we walked down again and made our way back to civilisation.

We jammed a lot; it was really exciting to have other musicians with us. We stayed up till almost midnight talking about facebook and the Internet and music and it was just the best thing ever.

Tomorrow I get to play rugby in gym because my math speciales teacher won't be there in the morning. Should be fun, violent, and I might utterly fail. I've never played rugby. I've read an autobiography of a famous rugby player, saw Leatherheads, and have watched a good number of American football games, so maybe it won't be so terrible. I also won't be having French math for about another week, since the teacher is busy with his new....kid I guess.

English math exams soon... we have to listen to some tape and answer stuff quickly or something. Sigh. Sometimes I get very annoyed with this system.

I've revived my idea on doing a documentary, except it would be maybe a bit more Michael Moore-ish. I mean, there's no way you could even try comparing what I would make to his stuff, but just I'd list some facts, show stuff... I dunno. Imagining. Fantasizing.

Oh. And I've also been pretty interested in radio now. Like, being a DJ and stuff. In fact, ever since I was a kid I've sort of always wanted to do a radio thing. My dad would always play NPR in the mornings while he did the dishes, and I'd hear it before going off to school. We listened to A Prairie Home Companion on Saturdays ocassionally, laughing with our ears turned slightly towards the speakers. I don't know if I'd be able to not stutter and say stuff clearly, but I can try. One of my friends' dad is a DJ apparently for the U of M station WCBN 88.3 FM. So that's cool.

Me: So Claire... I might be on the radio sometime 'cause like-
Claire: Oh yeah! You told me about that! That's cool!
Valentine (other English friend): What station?
Me: 'Cause yeah. It's in the States. A college one-
Claire: So is that another one of the things you wanna do when you grow up? Be on the radio?
Me: Uh well sort of-
Valentine: When Amelia grows up, she's going to change the world.

51 days left. You know, the world can be pretty fricking awesome sometimes.

Historic jeans

Today in FLE class we had to describe our perfect man/woman; i.e. the clothes and appearance and etc. I was sitting next to Amy, one of the other new spanish-speaking kids, but who is very very good at English, and it was hilarious and awkward and etc. Madame Voutaz, the FLE teacher, also added with a smile, that maybe we wanted to describe the man (if they were a guy) or the woman (if we were a girl) of our dreams. I was stuck between describing Ronald Weasley (i.e. Rupert Grint) or just some random person (I know, right?). I chose the latter, mentioning that he would be wearing argyle socks, even though I didn't know how to say "argyle" in French.

On the way out of the school walking home, I passed by a couple making out to my left, and proceeded to squeeze my way through throngs of annoying, smoking, accented high schoolers that had those intimidating laughs and seemed to think that no one else desired personal space and/or had an objective to get through. Welcome to almost the end of 8th grade, I guess.

In other news, we're into the 50's now, (59 seems like nothing!) and there isn't much conflict, or even any at all, concerning our ETA. School gets out July 3rd, a Friday, so we'd leave early Saturday but then jump back 6 hours therefore probably arriving before noon-ish local time. We'd get to see fireworks and maybe go to TOP. Great stuff. 

My trumpet teacher got married, and I (of course) need to go back and practice some stuff on my audition music. No surprise, but I was even playing some wrong notes. An f-sharp instead of a b, etc. Whatever. It's weird how suddenly your fingers lock and you can't breathe and the notes look drunk when you play for someone else. 

I feel like going to bed. I could wake up at 6 am and watch the ending of the Detroit/Anaheim hockey playoff game, which would be weird. It starts at 10:30 their time. Detroit best win. But if they're going to lose and dropout, might as well do it now so as not to get all of our hope's up. Sigh. But yeah.

See you tomorrow probably.