news
Hey hey hey!
Man I have been SO BUSY doing nothing! It’s crazy, I wake up superlate wedged between the mattress and the wall next to my new honey Brice (who lives life like a bat), eat a ridonkulously large amount of brioche. Or Chinese noodles, shaved carrots and dried chorizo. And always yogurt, to which I’m developing a rather startling addiction. Hang on, I have to change my music, for some reason it switched from Cali (coooool French music) to the Lion King. This will not do. Winamp is frustrating the socks off me today.
Anyway, new peeps:
- Aliénor is my our new roommate, come by way of Paris and carrying with her a coffee maker, fashion-savvy clothing, a sense of global responsibility (she’s in law, and would like to work with her Haitian heritage in human rights), and excellent expressions like “wesh c’est chantmé ce toon-là, je le kiffe à donf!” meaning “yeah that’s an awesome song, I love it!”
- Brice, my liver, I call him., Remember that Savage Garden song? Break Me, Shake Me? That’s Brice. Jamais n’ai-je étchallenged/moved/fascinated/deranged/reassured/delighted by someone who loves me back! Despite opening my eyes to the coolest parts of Grenoble (he’s lived here 15 years, has bartended here, knows EVERYfuckingBODY in town, even the homeless guy who wanders around with a transistor radio and yelling “les étudiantes, il faut les enculer!” (with those female students, you have to do them up the bum!”). Anyway. One of the exciting things about Brice is that you suddenly become VIP in every club/bar/restaurant in town (my roomies love it too, they’ve adopted him as the 5th member of our crazy collocation). Another exciting thing is that you never know what’s going to happen. Like you could be flipping through pictures on your camera to show friends and suddenly come upon a picture of yourself naked on the bed, playing solitaire! Never a dull moment.)
- My parents (ok they’re old peeps but still.) who came to visit a few weeks ago - my dad got to be daddish (“Go sit up on that bench and pose for my dorky pictures!!!) and we all went to provence for a weekend which was COOL. Saw Pierre and François, with whom we explored the possibilities of using dead snakes as sunglasses. And we went a little kamikaze with the hammock at my childhood house, La Jassine, and broke it. Oops! And I thought I would have to hire a slave-child to lever me out of my fat-person-armchair after spending the entire weekend eating France’s (the mum’s name. actually!) unfathomably yummy provençal cooking. Ratatatatatouille!
The General Situation RIGHT THIS SECOND: I am alone in my apartment until Sunday, reduced to a tea-drinking, economics-doing, music-listening, poetry-writing half-person who talks to herself all day. Hawt, especially in my UBC sweatshirt and slippers. Fuck it’s gotten cold. Also, France is a) getting ready for the presidential elections with a candidates’ run-up (Ségolène Royal is the hot one and Nicholas Sarkozy is the right-wing minister of the interior, them being major players) and France is b) being plagued with bus-burnings and youth violence in the banlieues. It’s a sad kind of civil war with no clear resolution.
C’est tout pour aujourd’hui. I hate blogs.
Bisous,
Joanna
Ps. My address is 7, Chemin Guilbaud 38000 Grenoble, FRANCE.
Letters, postcards are super welcome - it’s really nice to hear from my friends, how your lives are going. I have a few letters in the making…coming soon!
Man I have been SO BUSY doing nothing! It’s crazy, I wake up superlate wedged between the mattress and the wall next to my new honey Brice (who lives life like a bat), eat a ridonkulously large amount of brioche. Or Chinese noodles, shaved carrots and dried chorizo. And always yogurt, to which I’m developing a rather startling addiction. Hang on, I have to change my music, for some reason it switched from Cali (coooool French music) to the Lion King. This will not do. Winamp is frustrating the socks off me today.
Anyway, new peeps:
- Aliénor is my our new roommate, come by way of Paris and carrying with her a coffee maker, fashion-savvy clothing, a sense of global responsibility (she’s in law, and would like to work with her Haitian heritage in human rights), and excellent expressions like “wesh c’est chantmé ce toon-là, je le kiffe à donf!” meaning “yeah that’s an awesome song, I love it!”
- Brice, my liver, I call him., Remember that Savage Garden song? Break Me, Shake Me? That’s Brice. Jamais n’ai-je étchallenged/moved/fascinated/deranged/reassured/delighted by someone who loves me back! Despite opening my eyes to the coolest parts of Grenoble (he’s lived here 15 years, has bartended here, knows EVERYfuckingBODY in town, even the homeless guy who wanders around with a transistor radio and yelling “les étudiantes, il faut les enculer!” (with those female students, you have to do them up the bum!”). Anyway. One of the exciting things about Brice is that you suddenly become VIP in every club/bar/restaurant in town (my roomies love it too, they’ve adopted him as the 5th member of our crazy collocation). Another exciting thing is that you never know what’s going to happen. Like you could be flipping through pictures on your camera to show friends and suddenly come upon a picture of yourself naked on the bed, playing solitaire! Never a dull moment.)
- My parents (ok they’re old peeps but still.) who came to visit a few weeks ago - my dad got to be daddish (“Go sit up on that bench and pose for my dorky pictures!!!) and we all went to provence for a weekend which was COOL. Saw Pierre and François, with whom we explored the possibilities of using dead snakes as sunglasses. And we went a little kamikaze with the hammock at my childhood house, La Jassine, and broke it. Oops! And I thought I would have to hire a slave-child to lever me out of my fat-person-armchair after spending the entire weekend eating France’s (the mum’s name. actually!) unfathomably yummy provençal cooking. Ratatatatatouille!
The General Situation RIGHT THIS SECOND: I am alone in my apartment until Sunday, reduced to a tea-drinking, economics-doing, music-listening, poetry-writing half-person who talks to herself all day. Hawt, especially in my UBC sweatshirt and slippers. Fuck it’s gotten cold. Also, France is a) getting ready for the presidential elections with a candidates’ run-up (Ségolène Royal is the hot one and Nicholas Sarkozy is the right-wing minister of the interior, them being major players) and France is b) being plagued with bus-burnings and youth violence in the banlieues. It’s a sad kind of civil war with no clear resolution.
C’est tout pour aujourd’hui. I hate blogs.
Bisous,
Joanna
Ps. My address is 7, Chemin Guilbaud 38000 Grenoble, FRANCE.
Letters, postcards are super welcome - it’s really nice to hear from my friends, how your lives are going. I have a few letters in the making…coming soon!